Badlands
by planetblue
Summary: Moonlight drives and sharpened knives. This is the story of us.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey folks! Glad to see you here. Posting will be Mondays and Thursdays as always, this is a little special posting for all the love you guys showed for the banner. And as always, it's completely written.**

**Carrie ZM once again beta'd this bad boy for me, pouring her blood, sweat and tears into my words with a ****level of devotion I couldn't have even dreamt of**. Because of my need to fiddle after, any mistakes you find are solely mine, as well as any decision to abuse the English language.

**LayAtHomeMom pre-read for me, and let me tell you something - that girl comments with the best GIFs ever. I'm honored she agreed to join me on this adventure.**

**Without both of these ladies' insight, this would've been much worse. My love for them is boundless; words cannot express what their hard work has meant to me...i'm speechless, which is rare. **

**Oh, and you can thank Lolypop82 for that fan-fucking-tastic story banner. She put up with my nitpicking and general control-freakiness and boy, did she deliver!**

**Special little thank you to Suebee...she knows why.**

_**Let's go...**_

* * *

Chapter 1

_**Well I've been down so very damn long**_

_**That it looks like up to me**_

_**Yeah, why don't one you people**_

_**C'mon and set me free**_

**- "Been Down So Long", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

The first persistent impression I had about Edward Masen was the feeling I'd get when his boots would scuff the floor as he skulked down the hallway. It had been weeks that he'd been there, invading my shitty school, but I never looked; I wouldn't turn my head from the act I put on of organizing books I rarely used. I would just hear it, like a car approaching far down the highway; slowly creeping closer to you while you waited to find out if it would pass by or hit you. Shuffle, scuff. Shuffle, scuff. The nearing sound of the untied, grungy work boots made my heart beat with the rush of adrenaline and my scalp perspire until the hum got so loud it was through me and around me and all over me. The blood would pound in my ears for a while even as the noise moved beyond where I stood. The shuffle never paused near me, never noticed me, and it would move on, falling distant until it was once again barely a whisper on the linoleum.

I don't know what any of the other kids surrounding me did when he would walk past, all of us waiting for him to be gone. The hallway sounded quiet in his presence, but I didn't know if that was my own fucked up head shutting everything out or if everyone had the same reaction as me; hoping to go unnoticed, hoping to be able to fit into the locker and hole up until he'd disappeared.

Like crabs making their way out of holes to check if things were safe, I'd begin hearing lockers being shut; voices would rise again around me. Girls squealed as boys teased and touched and made plans for weekend events I'd never be invited to. I'd take a moment; closing my eyes and gathering my might, before shutting the metal door quietly so as to remain ignored until I'd finally make my way down the opposite path of Edward Masen's shadow. The seams of the dirty green floor guiding me like a map, keeping me straight between the first line of tiles and the wall to my right.

I'd wonder about him occasionally, as I walked with my head down; my limp hair draping across my face just the way I liked it.

I dared to look at him once, the first day he arrived in this sticky Florida misery. I was outside, leaning against the brick corner of the building waiting for the last possible minute to enter when I noticed him approach from across the parking lot. It was like the air had become charged, its stagnant humidity suddenly swirling and moving. My eyes were drawn to him inexplicably, and I'd noticed that everyone else had had the same reaction. His entire being was hypnotic, pulling your eyes to him like a magnet.

Studying people from a distance was safe, and from my crouched position in my corner I started slow, my eyes landing on the boots first, a chaotic vision of laces and rugged use. I trailed gradually up the legs of his faded, slightly dirty jeans that had been pulled down low with the weight of a heavy black belt. My eyes widened as they continued up to see a worn, black Doors t-shirt, my favorite band, with a sizeable hole at the neck, an uneven tear, like it had been ripped with purpose. The leather jacket he wore, as used and marred as his boots, stood out in the sea of bare arms and sundresses. I watched as his hand moved to the last remnants of a cigarette dangling from his lips before he determinedly flicked it towards a bunch of freshman. They jumped and scattered away from its burning end, and I remember wanting to laugh at that but settled for smiling internally. That was until the humor in me was quickly replaced by a feeling I'd never felt before when I finally looked at his face.

Relief is what washed over me that day. Not the same sort of relief that a cold spray from a nearby sprinkler gives you on a hot day. No, it was the relief of seeing someone who had about as much rage on his face as I felt I had on mine.

I stood stunned, overwhelmed, and I hastily scurried away like the cockroach I'd been told I was.

* * *

I rarely brought any textbooks home. I managed to do whatever homework I had during lunch, I didn't study, and I wasn't academically inclined. There was no point. I wasn't going to be attending college as a pretty sorority girl in a pink fuzzy sweater.

The lightness of my backpack made the two-mile walk through the buggy, humid wasteland easier to accomplish, but I still lollygagged towards the trailer park Daddy moved us to a year ago. His excuse at the time was to get a "fresh start". I called it denial, a poor excuse to try and hold on to some semblance of the life he had. Lord knows why he thought that living in a flytrap of a home in the same damn town was better than moving far, far away.

Being such a small, stupid town, the sheriff's department let him keep his job regardless of his drinking and general decline that followed "the incident", because the cops in this town were lazy and didn't want to deal with finding a replacement. He worked fewer shifts then he had before, which meant less money, so I assumed there was no choice but to move us out of my childhood home and into the more depressing of the seven trailer parks that dotted the town, regardless of his false reasons.

Upon my arrival at what we called home, the ripped green and yellow stripes of the awning would turn my stomach, the colors making the white, metal siding underneath glow with a sickening pallor. It was always the first thing I'd see as turned down our alley, and those stripes were never a welcome sight, regardless of how badly I wanted to get inside and stick my damp neck close to the fan that resided there.

Sometimes, when I rounded that final corner and laid my eyes on our trailer, I'd smile just a bit after the initial twinge in my stomach passed, when I'd see the dirt patch of land where the brown sheriff's car usually parked, stood empty.

The old gray dogs Mr. Harris tied up on the side of his trailer would bark at me, and they'd drive me inside quickly, not that there was any reason for me to stay outside anyways. I had no garden to tend like Mrs. Harris; with her rows of tomatoes and cucumbers lined up perfectly inside a tiny white picket fence guarded by an army of garden gnomes, and I had no friends that would come calling to shoot the shit over a glass of lemonade.

There was no lock to fish out a key for. Daddy broke it months before after a night spent at the bar downtown. We had nothing of value, and even though most folk in our section tended to pretend we weren't there, neighbor was neighbor, making it safe enough, so he just never bothered to replace it.

Entering the musty trailer, I would immediately look to the left, as I did every day.

Sometimes, I'd see Mrs. McCarty's chipped casserole dish lying on the pockmarked counter, covered in her perky pink plastic wrap, and I'd be happy for a moment. I'd eat what she'd made before wrapping up the leftovers and returning the dish when I'd head to her trailer a few doors down to babysit her brats while she went out with the married owner of the Quickie Lube over on Route 41.

These were my good nights. These were my safe nights. Not having to be home when Daddy would return, both of us awkward with each other at his half-fucked attempt to talk to me. We'd both be relieved when I'd just grunt about my day, and he'd be free to head for the beer stocked cooler that lived next to the lawn chair outside where he'd settle in for the duration of the night.

A night at the McCarty's also meant I wasn't home alone when Daddy was out and Mike Newton's knock made the flimsy screen door rattle and bump, my mouth clamping shut on instinct with the acidic reminder of the taste of his come.

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Dirty Little Secrets by Brits23**

Bella's new life in Miami is fueled by one anthem: No Regrets. A steamy late night rendezvous with a cocky playboy is just what she needed, but an encounter with a blond doctor leaves her aching for more. BxE, BxC, AH. Rated M for hot Miami nights.

_**Can't wait to hear from you, and remember, reviews make me happy!**_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_**When you're strange**_

_**Faces come out of the rain**_

_**When you're strange**_

_**No one remembers your name**_

**- "People are Strange", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

_Shuffle, scuff. Shuffle scuff. Almost. I almost turned to look._

The rumor is, he killed his parents. Or stabbed one of them. Or something.

No one told me specifically since no one talks to me, but that's what I heard Jessica Stanley tell Angela Weber in gym. I was up above them in the bleachers that pull out of the wall, watching the volleyball game my forged doctor's note got me out of when I heard it over the echo of sneakers squeaking on the shiny wood floor.

"Oh yeah, he totally did. The guy's a psychopath," Jessica said, as she flipped her hair and leaned back on the bench behind her. I looked at her perfect, pink manicure laying on the wood in front of me and then at my own, the black polish I'd put on weeks ago clinging to life in the center of each nail.

"He didn't kill them, he stabbed his father," Angela chimed in. She looked around quickly before continuing, her voice lowering so as not to be overheard. "He's just so creepy. Walking around with ratty old clothes all the time. I mean, can't the guy afford a new shirt? He wore that stupid Sex Pistols one twice last week." She shook her head in disgust, her black ponytail bouncing behind her. "His uncle is loaded, I mean, really."

They continued on for a bit about his clothing before moving to the more mundane facets of their life, neither being smart enough to question that if he actually had killed his folks, or even just attacked one, it's highly doubtful he'd be attending our high school. I had laughed quietly at their idiocy, secretly wishing he had been somewhere lurking, listening, ready to pounce and perhaps show these two fuckwits some _real_ violence.

Visions of Angela's and Jessica's heads being smashed together made me smile, and I returned to tuning them out. Their conversation stuck with me over the next few days though, as I hadn't really heard anyone have the balls to talk about him before that moment. Everyone seemed scared of him, wary of his presence and afraid to mention him.

It was possibly due to the fact that he seemed to find pleasure in terrorizing people. No one spoke to Edward Masen, unless you wanted to be growled at before he laughed maniacally and walked away from your stunned, opened mouth. I'd watched from afar as he'd take his hands out of his leather pockets, raised both of them in the air, and punched two middle fingers at a teacher. I revered him as he blatantly smoked in the hallway, fantastically not giving two fucks.

My fascination grew, and that conversation between Jessica and Angela only fed my escalating need. I found myself desperately wanting more information.

I started to move closer to people instead of away, hoping to hear more about this strange, possibly volatile Edward Masen, but I heard nothing. I was thankful no one noticed my sudden nearness, a proximity that could put myself at the mercy of their taunting attention that appeared to have faded in the last few months, settling me into a new unseen existence that I savored. Maybe they'd moved on from me. Maybe the appearance of Edward Masen finally returned things to normal and made people forget that Bella Swine, with her greasy hair and lack of social skills, existed.

I had never minded not having a lot of friends growing up. I liked being alone; I liked not having to talk if I didn't want to. There was a time when Angela Weber and I would play Barbie's at her house while our mothers would eat a crumb cake ring, drink coffee, and smoke in the kitchen. I think she was forced to have me as a play date, because when we played, her Barbie with the shiny, golden fake locks would go out on dates, while mine with the short, choppy hairdo courtesy of Angela's little sister would stay home and have to clean up the clothes she left in her frenzy to go out with Ken. Once we outgrew Barbie, our mothers stopped the forced playdates, but Angela would still say 'hi' to me in the halls, or chat with me in a class we shared.

But once your mother walks into a Wal-Mart with a loaded gun aimed at your former play date's father, you lose whatever lingering friendship had been carried over into your teens pretty quickly.

That being said, I did exist to one person in school, though he'd never approached me in front of anyone.

Mike Newton was kind of nice to me before "the incident". He wouldn't go out of his way to pick on me like the others did, but like everyone else, he made me a pariah after, following but rarely joining the in-crowd in their public harassment. He paid his attention to me in private, and when he'd come knocking, I'd let him in, even though I wasn't fooled into thinking that he thought anything of me other than someone to ease his needs. Mike's steady girlfriend, Jessica, was the head of the school's Devoted Baptists for Abstinence Group. Or as I called them, the D-BAGS.

Mike's interest in me was not reciprocated; in fact, I had no interest in anything. I laughed at the idea of joining any school groups, and thankfully, no one cared that I didn't. Guidance counselors never called me in to discuss college applications, and teachers didn't try to get me to join class discussions. At home, I didn't particularly enjoy reading, but would if I was completely bored, re-reading a dog-eared copy of _Wifey_ my father forgot to pack into a box of Momma's things for Goodwill. I didn't have much interest in TV, as the fake, shiny lives of the actors made me feel uneasy. Mrs. McCarty tried to teach me to knit once, but honestly, what the fuck would I need a scratchy, heavy blanket for in the Florida heat? And I sure as hell wasn't interested in knitting baby booties.

Having never really been interested in something made what was going on inside me extremely confusing. I was never obsessed with boy bands, teen movie stars or anyone, really, but the day I overheard Mrs. Cope talking to Principal Black, saying that Edward Masen might be "violent", "unmanageable", "possibly on drugs", and/or a "sociopath", I found myself starting to become fixated on something that interested me for the first time in a long time.

* * *

_Shuffle, scuff. Shuffle, scuff. I looked at the boots as they walked by me, and my eyes travelled up a bit to see the same dirty jeans. _

He sat alone under one of the big green ash trees for our shared lunch period. This I found out when instead of hiding in the basement bathroom next to the wood shop like I spent most of my tortured days, I ventured out, hoping the climate towards me had continued into one of oblivion. I crept through the smelly old boiler room and up the stairs that led to the open quad wanting to observe from a safe distance. I wasn't sure he'd be out there, but as soon as I picked my head up, I saw him about fifty feet in front of me, so I sat on those gray cement steps and watched him, happy to observe him quietly.

Under my veil of hair and behind a history book I'd never opened, I watched as he used a knife pulled from the pocket of his leather jacket to cut uneven chunks out of an apple. I observed the dull light through the shade of the tree touch upon the metal before he speared the slices and stuck the knife and apple in his mouth. He ate quickly, and I worried he'd cut his lip. I'd sit and wait for the sign of blood to trickle down his chin, but it never did. He didn't strike me as "an apple a day" kind of guy, but the apple never changed into anything else during his meal. I found the contrast of his hellish exterior to the health and freshness of his food intriguing. I kept my stare on his mouth, never venturing up to his eyes; confident he was unaware of my presence.

I took notice of our positions; me separated from him by the hot, cracked parking lot and the weeds that struggled to grow between the fissures, to him in front of me and lying against that rough tree trunk. No one surrounded him for a good fifty feet in any direction; even the picnic tables in the shade near him remained empty, forming a radiant circle that was practically visible, an odd, wavering line like a mirage on hot asphalt. Why he sat there at all made me curious, and I wondered if he perhaps liked knowing he made people uneasy, and sat there as a form of entertainment. I admired his boldness, his confidence. The way he didn't care if he creeped people out.

So I soon altered my regular lunch routine, and sat outside to be near him. Every day, when he was done with his apple, he'd throw the core at someone. Whoever happened to be the closest, unfortunate person on that invisible border. He'd miss sometimes, but other times the apple would land with a thump onto someone's back or leg. No one ever turned to look or complain, and I saw the circle widening with each day that passed. I would smile behind my book and hope Mike Newton would soon cross that line by mistake.

I'd watch, as he would pull out a red pack of cigarettes and a Zippo, clenching one in his mouth while quickly flicking the flame. He'd cup his hand around the end he was lighting, his head always tipped to the right as he did so.

* * *

_Shuffle, scuff. Shuffle, scuff. His arms were well defined, the veins prominent as he held his hands in tight fists. _

He was nineteen, I'd learned from Mrs. McCarty the day I finally had the nerve to ask someone about him. I was helping her throw the twins' bed sheets over the wash line our row of trailers shared, pinning them up and trying not to let them graze the dusty ground as they pulled on the weathered, wilted wire. She was always filling me in on the local gossip, never noticing I didn't care much. Mrs. McCarty knew everything and everyone in town, her job as a cashier down at the Publix made her central in a breeding ground of other people's business.

I wondered if he was held back from whatever school he'd been to before he landed in my miserable neck of the woods, or had he maybe done some juvie time. My mind started wandering; envisioning different fantasies of what Edward Masen might do to land himself in baby prison. I thought of the rumor of him killing his folks or stabbing his father at least. The memory of that glint of the knife in his mouth every day brought a stirring of awe to my body, and I wondered if it perhaps was the knife he used. Mrs. McCarty didn't know the reason when I asked why he was older than the rest of my class. She asked me why I wanted to know, and I shrugged her off, playing that it was just conversation on a hot day to pass the time. My fascination with Edward Masen was not one I was ready to share with anyone.

She went on to say she'd heard his folks were dead, and she mentioned he'd moved here with his aunt and uncle, who owned the major appliance store on the highway, from the other side of Alachua County. He'd been kicked out of the school in Keystone Heights over by the lake, and the only school that would take him in was ours. She hinted at money changing hands, favors offered, and told me that it would be in my best interest if I forgot all about some boy and just got the fuck out of Archer when school ended in two months, lest I get knocked up and left in a trailer park with a belly full of babies. As she said this, she flung the permanently stained crib sheet of her youngest over the line with a grunt, making it sag even more.

* * *

_Shuffle, scuff. Shuffle, scuff. There was no rip in the neckline of his shirt that day._

Time went on, nothing changed. Life was as stagnant as a puddle attracting mosquitos. Daddy went to work and came home with the twelve-pack of cans under his arm when he wasn't on night shift. I'd try to make him eat something, and sometimes he did. I couldn't really cook, but I'd make him a sandwich or save some of Mrs. McCarty's casserole for him. He'd ask me about my day, I'd grunt 'fine' and when he was done, he'd step out the creaky door. I'd hear the slushing of ice as he dug around in that faded blue cooler and I'd make my way to bed, another night spent staring at the ceiling, wishing for some other life.

Nothing changed with Edward Masen either. It didn't make me want to observe him less. There was something comforting in knowing that he'd be there, day in, day out, under that big tree by himself. He ate his apple and smoked as I watched. People stayed away from both of us, which made me feel close to him. It made me wonder if he had anyone he was close to, and it made me think about aunts and uncles and possibly dead parents.

One day, as I came out of English lagging behind everyone as per usual, I walked directly into a commotion in the hallway. Normally, I'd slink away a little in fear of being taunted for something or other, but once I saw the bronze head of Edward Masen in the distance, taller than those surrounding him, I couldn't make my feet go. I stepped off to the side behind everyone, and craned my neck, trying to see what was going down. I couldn't make out what had happened, but the whispers around me told a tale of a locker search and a knife. My heart started beating in trepidation, and I wondered if they confiscated his knife, how would he eat his lunch?

I felt bad for him. It was the first time in a long time I'd felt empathy towards another human being.

I watched as he got pulled away by the principal, an angry 'fuck you' rising above the crowd as his arm jerked out of the small man's grasp, nearly hitting Mr. Banner in the process. I must've laughed a little, probably an unused, strangled sound, because just then, Mike Newton turned and looked right at me. I became alarmed at his stare, my unease revived as he winked one blue eye. I immediately darted away; confused by the fact that he took the risk of taking notice of me so openly. I hoped for a casserole to appear that night, but knew that my luck was never something to place a bet on.

Later, as I was heading towards my last hated class and sending out mental vibes of tuna fish and breadcrumbs to Mrs. McCarty, the main office door came into view and I slowed, seeing Edward Masen sitting in one of the uncomfortable metal chairs, legs splayed, arms crossed angrily across his chest. I could see who I assumed was the uncle and the principal talking just feet away from him, and I heard the words "punishment", "discount" and then a handshake between the two men. I flattened my back to the wall and looked to my feet as the uncle told Edward to get up, and peeked at the pair as they left the office, watching their backs as they went.

"Edward," the uncle said, seemingly not very angry, "no more knives. I thought we discussed this."

No answer from Edward Masen.

* * *

_Shuffle, scuff. Shuffle, scuff. His jaw was heavy with stubble, his mouth tense._

The game had been changed.

For the second day in a row, Mike Newton scared the shit out of me. He held back after math to tell me to expect him since I hadn't been home the night prior. He had always just shown up before, usually stoned, his shirt darkened with sweat from having walked through the muggy evening, coming from his development to mine. I had assumed all those months he'd been sniffing around me that he would come on a whim, when the mood struck him and his hand was getting sore. The thought that he planned his visits to me during school hours skeeved me out more than him coming over at all. I did not wish for Mike Newton to give me more thought than time it took him to get hard, and I sure as fuck did not like Mike Newton approaching me in public.

As I'd hoped the day before when he'd startled me with his wink, I had come home to a nice cheese, chicken and potato casserole, freshly baked and smelling divine. I think Mrs. McCarty's dinners tasted so good more so because of what they represented than what was actually in them. I'd watched the door of my trailer that night from her kitchen window, through the cheerful stickers brat one and two had placed there, as Mike Newton tapped and knocked timidly, until at one point, I watched as his foot lashed out irately and kicked my door. His frustration startled me, as I'd watched him out there on other nights, when all he'd do was knock a few times, wait, and then head on back home. He'd never kicked before; he'd never been an angry guy.

When I was home and allowed him in, he'd smile and try to be nice, maybe try to talk to me about something, but I'd make sure it was done quickly. I'd cut the unwanted chitchat and I'd blow him, just to get rid of him. Every once in a while, when he had that look of wanting more, and I wasn't completely opposed to it, I'd let him fuck me while I lay on the old, worn out couch in my trailer, staring at the crack in the vinyl ceiling.

I'd count the flies that circled above, watching as they got caught in the sticky paper my father hung above the kitchen sink.

He'd heave and jerk, coming fast, and I'd just wait for the inevitable "thanks" while he pulled out, throwing the used condom in the kitchen garbage before leaving the trailer with a slap of the screen door. It was what it was.

But now, because he had decided to go batshit and get bold, I couldn't observe Edward Masen at lunch. I had panicked, hating and berating myself simultaneously as I ran and hid like a coward, sitting myself on my perch, the sink way down in the basement bathroom. Back where I belonged. The constant drip, drip from the rusty faucet kept time with my legs as they swung back and forth, my head hanging low in dejection.

I'd let Mike Newton take the only thing I had found a glimmer of hope about in my miserable life on that day.

Watching Edward, his apple, and his knife.

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**The Education of Professor Cullen by sheviking**

College professor Edward Cullen is thoroughly annoyed by his student Ms. Swan. Everything about her bothers him, and he longs for the semester to be over. But what happens when he meets her one night when they aren't in school?

* * *

**I'm honored to be participating in the launch of a new site by FicSisters! It's going to be a great place to find fic, rec fic, talk fic, and I might have a little something to say about this story. Find them at www dot ficsisters dot com**

_**As always, thank you to Carrie ZM and LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Remember, reviews make me happy!**_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_**What have they done to the earth?**_

_**What have they done to our fair sister?**_

_**Ravaged and plundered and ripped her and bit her**_

_**Stuck her with knives in the side of the dawn**_

_**And tied her with fences and dragged her down**_

**- "When the Music's Over", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

The self-loathing I felt at having let that scumbag Mike Newton take away the only thing I was enjoying on this earth made me feel dirtier than any of their stares or whispers. It was the first time in a long time I could remember being angry at one of them, instead of silently agreeing with their assessment of me, right or wrong. My mother, as fucked as she was, would never have wanted me to behave like such a coward.

My back was pressed tight against the opening of my locker the day I decided to change things, the metal frame dug into my sides and gripped me in place like a vice. It willed me not to succumb and turn like a frightened mouse.

_Shuffle, scuff. Shuffle, scuff._

I'd watched him walking down this stretch of hallway the previous times by peeking over my shoulder, my body folded in on itself facing away. But that day was the first time I'd blatantly turned my body towards the open space and dared to be noticed. I hadn't known what to expect.

I'm not sure if I was surprised at all that all he did was walk a straight line, scowl firmly in place, and ignore those who were busy trying to ignore him. I swallowed, willed my might, and chanced a quick look up at his eyes. I was caught frozen in my spot, unsure where his gaze might be landing behind the black, dark as night sunglasses he'd had on. The blood pumping in my ears was the same as it always was, my heart raced and my palms itched, until I felt the air that followed him wash over me. The scent of smoke and leather lingered in his wake, and gave me a sense of thrill.

After what felt like an eternity since he'd passed, I looked around the quiet, moody hallway, and as I'd wondered countless times, I appeared to have been the only one watching him. If he'd noticed me, he didn't show it. My initial feeling was one of relief, but was also strangely accompanied by disappointment. As my senses came back to me while I stood there, stock still, I realized now my faux pas in the fact that I was facing the student body as they came back to life. I looked over towards a loud laugh in the direction of Mike Newton's locker and was disconcerted to see him with a glazed look covering his eyes but staring back at me nonetheless. Jessica stood nearby chattering to his unhearing ears, and I felt an ominous cold finger of dread creep up my back before I turned quickly to slam my locker door and hurried away.

Classes dragged on that morning, the clock barely moving and for once, I was anxious to be somewhere. I'd worked myself up into a tizzy the night before thinking about the fact that I wasn't going to hide again in the brown and pink girl's restroom that I'd returned to the day before. The pull to the quad was too strong, too unexplainable. Now that I had turned and watched Edward Masen with my full body and nothing bad had happened, the resolve that I wouldn't let that thirty-second fucker Newton get in my head, and in my way, was bolstered and firmly back in place.

Regardless of my newfound strength, I crept out of the basement steps like a scared rabbit. Once I'd confirmed no one was looking my way, I sat lightly on the cement steps, careful not to make a sound. I opened the History book, not noticing at what point in time the book had decided to lie. I watched as he stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankle, and dug into his pocket, producing something shiny, and my heart skipped with happiness to see he'd gotten himself a new knife. I watched, unabashed, as his fingers flicked the blade open and he got busy slaughtering his apple.

Each piece was hacked and maimed, then chewed and swallowed. I was so mesmerized by the action in front of me that I didn't register what happened until it was over, the evidence mocking me at my feet.

I sat, stupefied, looking at his apple core, mere inches from the bottom step of my roost. Without a glance to him, I got up and scurried back into the building. Pissed that I dared to leave my bathroom. Anger towards myself that I'd risked looking at him that morning.

Basking in the thrill that shot through me when that apple was aimed and hurtled towards _me_.

* * *

Mrs. McCarty came to my door at six o'clock in the morning the day after the apple incident, waking me from dreams of fruit on knives and blood on lips, by banging loudly on the frame of the screen in need of a sitter. She'd never ask me normally, she said, as she wrung her hands in worry, but Mrs. Harris, who usually watched them while Mrs. McCarty worked her shift, had come down with some nasty bug. Her husband Emmett was getting out of prison the next day, Saturday, and the last thing she needed was a houseful of sick kids as soon as he came home. I had agreed readily, as any reason to not go to school was good enough for me, plus, she'd said she'd pay me a little. I had a pitiful stash of money tucked into an old flowered make-up bag Momma had used, its insides caked with bright swirls of powder residue, and I'd gladly add to my "get the fuck out of Archer" fund.

Mr. McCarty had been serving time over at the Suwannee Correctional Institution on some burglary charges. He'd served two of his five-year prison sentence, getting out on good behavior. He wasn't a bad guy, he had always been nice to me, but he had a propensity, as my Daddy said, for taking what didn't belong to him. Mostly, the money belonging to owners of Lil' Champs Food Stores and various liquor outlets.

As I agreed, I fretted and wanted to ask if she was pissed at his early release. Would she still be able to go have sex with the Quickie Lube guy? Maybe Mr. McCarty's return wouldn't make a difference. I panicked a little and hoped that she'd keep doing the wrong thing just so I didn't end up home every night, having to grunt at Daddy or have Mike Newton grunt at me.

I spent the day in her trailer listening to the old TV in the corner blaring cartoons, the outdated machine trying to mask the rattling sound of the even older air conditioner. I watched the pieces of fabric that had been taped to it, barely lifting on the tepid air it spewed, and worried incessantly about Edward Masen and his apple core. I hoped and prayed that he'd have forgotten all about me by the time I got back on Monday.

Part of me also hoped and prayed that he hadn't.

* * *

I thought off and on all weekend about what Mrs. McCarty had said to me while we hung that wash a week ago, about getting out, about not becoming her, cause that's what she'd really meant, let's be honest. I can't say that I'd had some big revelation or had any high falutin' ideas about where I lay on the high school food chain, but I did one thing to make myself a little prouder of me. I made a point to turn around at the sound of those haunting boots again that next Monday morning.

Proud and determined as I had been, I couldn't stop my eyes from tightly shutting closed when I heard the sound shuffle towards me.

My face was still scrunched in blindness as the shuffle paused right near me.

I was left with my skin tingling and head ringing after it finally scuffed away.

Trying to regain my lost breath and any type of brain function at the thought that Edward Masen, quite possibly, had just stopped near my locker, I stuck my body back in as far as it would go. No one ever stopped near my locker.

I turned my back on the hallway once again and forced down a trembling smile, juggling books I wasn't registering the names or uses for. The fear and joy coursing through my body were short lived, however, as that became a banner day for one Bella Swine. Mike Newton chose that moment to walk past and whisper, his breath hot and stale on my neck, as close to me as he dared to get. He informed me he'd been patient with my absences long enough and to expect him later on that evening. The panic that came with him becoming more reckless in his approach added to the light-headedness I was already feeling. I booked it down the hall, not caring that I was drawing attention to myself, and I promptly lost my Cheerios in the closest bathroom.

I stayed in there, sitting on the old ledge of a window that wouldn't open due to years of sickly beige paint being applied, straight on through my next class. I knew I'd have to emerge soon. I thought it was possible I'd left my locker open in my panicked state, and the last thing I needed was someone planting something disgusting in there. One time, before I'd learned to be guarded and swallowed by my locker, someone put a dissected frog in my book bag while I was looking away, only for me to discover it when I'd gone hunting blindly with my hand for a pen later that night.

I gathered my wits and made my way back, carefully kept in my normal position between floor tile and wall. I was thankful to see it shut, and I made a mental note to go through my book bag carefully later on, just in case.

* * *

Math had to be the most ridiculous subject. I mean, I got that you needed to know it, but who the ever loving fuck cares what _x_ equals as opposed to _y_? I took my seat and immediately tuned out as usual, uninterested in the equations written on the board.

It came suddenly, as I was sitting at my usual desk in the back and drawing dead frogs on the space void of books or paper. I couldn't have stopped myself if I'd tried when I heard the shuffle scuff of those familiar boots, so out of place in this room, so ingrained in my head and tattooed on my soul. I looked up, forgetting who and where I was.

I blinked, my eyes first landing on the dark, thorny earring sticking through his left lobe like it had been stabbed, and up to the chaotic mass of hair so close to me that I could make out varied shades of bronze and brown. I had been so thrown, so wide eyed in disbelief, that the last thing I noticed were a pair of intense green eyes, rimmed in angry black, that bored right into mine.

I swallowed, broke out into a sweat, and cursed under my breath as I felt the air move in the space around me, stunned when he went to sit at the empty desk next to mine. It would've been a lie if I told you that there were a few available to choose from and that he chose that particular one, but he'd had no choice, sentenced next to me at the last available desk in my corner of the room.

Mr. Banner cleared his throat, and you could hear the quiver in his voice as he announced that Mr. Masen would be joining our class. No one turned to look at him, no one uttered a sound, but I snuck a look over only to see the blank desk much like mine in front of him, no books or notebooks, and I smiled behind the curtain of my hair.

I recoiled on instinct when I saw him lean towards me suddenly, my body shifting in my seat as far away as possible. I saw him looking at my depiction of dead amphibians, gutted and splayed just like on a dissecting pan. He sat back, and made no other move towards me as I sat stiffly in my chair, my head down and my hair protecting me from his presence.

* * *

Edward Masen didn't give a fuck. He liked to put his feet up on the chair in front of him, which caused Eric Yorkie to slide up to sit on the very front. I quietly enjoyed this and couldn't wait for him to eventually slide under to fall right on his stupid ass.

We didn't talk, we hadn't made eye contact again since that first day, and he never paused by my locker again, but the apple cores regularly came my way. I mustered the courage and didn't run at the sight of the used fruit being lobbed towards me the day he looked at my disemboweled frogs. I'd stayed the days since, and I watched them roll unevenly, until they came to an eventual stop by my feet. I'd leave them there even though I desperately wanted to pick one up, wanting to see the marks the knife left. I wanted to press my fingers into the bruises his handling had caused as he'd clutched the fruit; dying to place mine right on top of the blemishes the pads of his fingers had left.

Math stayed the same until it didn't. One day, I heard a long, slow scraping sound. I peeked over to see Edward Masen, stunning that day in a black, tight t-shirt adorned with Jim Morrison's beautiful face, as he pulled the blade of his knife down the shaft of a bright, yellow pencil. I watched and stared as he sharpened it to a fine point, the shavings gathered in a pile on his desk, until he took the pencil and stabbed it sharply into the desktop, causing the end to break and skitter away. I looked down at the graphite bit that landed on the floor and wondered if he'd wash the knife before he ate with it.

He began to do this every day. Over and over, throughout the whole period.

Mr. Banner constantly looked annoyed but didn't say anything. No one said anything. Lauren Mallory showed her irritation at the sound, her fat ass fidgeted in her seat, and her hair flipped over her shoulder as she asked Mr. Banner to repeat what he'd just said. That just made him scrape and break louder, which made me smile bigger.

Scrape, snap. Scrape, snap.

It was as hypnotic as the shuffle scuff. He'd leave behind the pile of shavings on his desk after he'd left the room. I might've pinched a bit of it, once, and stuck it in my pocket.

* * *

Mike Newton had whispered to me a few more times since that first time at my locker, just quiet and quickly enough that I got the idea that he'd made sure no one saw. I didn't nod or say anything back to him; I would just start to plan on where I'd be spending the evening to avoid him if there wasn't a casserole sitting on my counter. Sometimes there was, sometimes there wasn't. Sometimes I was home, sometimes I hid.

The day I heard Edward Masen's voice directed at me for the first time was the day Mike Newton must've smoked too much weed. I watched in horror as a hand shot out and touched my arm, only to look up into Mike's eyes, sunken and blank, his cheeks hollowed, and his skin pallid. The harsh fluorescents exaggerated his sickly features, his declining health something I hadn't noticed the last time he was in my trailer, but the feel of his skin on mine in the very crowded hallway scared me more than his appearance. Before he could say a word to me, I shot away from him, careening down the hallway, dodging people in my struggle to get away.

I had my head down and Mike Newton's ghostly face swimming in my thoughts; I wasn't paying attention to where I was going as I skittered against the wall, and I saw the boots in front of me a split second before I realized they were much too close. Before I could stop it, I walked into them, my old sneaker stepping on top of his old boot and I swear, just for a moment, there was beauty in my life.

"Fucking watch where you're going." I looked up sharply in time to see his black-rimmed eyes lift from our mangled feet only to fall angrily on mine.

For just a moment, we stood there in that hallway like that, unmoving, staring, until he moved his feet, and my shoe slid off the boot with a sinking feeling heavy in my chest. I waited with trepidation, drunk on his proximity, which made me unable to rush away as I normally would have had he been anyone else. I watched as he straightened his legs to stand at his full height, towering over me, and said something I hadn't heard from anyone in a long time. "Sorry." His voice whispered, void of the anger that others heard, but still present in his eyes.

I watched his lips to see if there would be more, but he shut them tight, keeping a grimace on his face. I, of course, had nothing to say in return, so I took a step back and made a wide circle around him as I walked past and practically leaned against the opposite locker wall for support as I made my way away from him.

Later, I thought about the shoes and tried to give them meaning where there was none, as I listened to the scrape and snap over and over, the sound lulling me into a dream. A dream of dirty black sneakers on untied boots, lingering there together for much longer than they had.

* * *

Daddy was home and asked me to sit with him while he ate. I did so awkwardly, as I had eaten earlier as usual. There was no casserole, so I warmed up some Dinty Moore for him and watched as he slurped it up, careful not to get any on his mustache. Momma always loved his mustache.

"How was school today, Bella?" he asked clumsily after clearing his throat, and quickly spooned up a hunk of whatever meat that was in the pre-made stew.

I replied as I always did, while kicking my foot into the table leg, making his can of Schlitz shimmy close to the edge of the table. "Fine." We sat in silence for a while, both waiting on the other to say something more. He cleared his throat a few more times, making it look like there was something he wanted to say, but I waited and nothing came.

He finished his meal, and I stood to take the bowl from him, while out of the corner of my eye I noticed him studying me. I narrowed my eyes and shifted my feet. "What?" I snapped, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

"You're smiling." His mouth moved into a half smile of his own while my free hand went to my face and hovered near my lips. "It's nice to see, it's been a long time." The sorrow in his eyes passed quickly, almost as if I'd imagined it.

"I'm not smiling." I quickly turned, my face burning up in embarrassment that he'd noticed and felt the need to point it out. Motherfuck, I hadn't even known I had been.

I washed his bowl with the lukewarm water for as long as I could without making it obvious I wasn't going to say anything else. I kept waiting for the sound of movement to come from behind me, the crinkle of the empty can before it got tossed into the wastebasket, followed by the flapping of the old door sounding behind him as he made his way to his battered lawn chair.

Instead, the flapping of the door came while he was on the inside. I looked over to him sharply, as we never had many visitors, and he looked out the door.

"I think you have a visitor, Bella." The words sounded foreign in my ears as he said them. "Do you have a beau?" His mustache twitched and my mouth opened in horror at the joke he was making, at the fact that he held any humor in him at all anymore, until I realized who was probably on the other side of that door.

Daddy's cruiser was in the shop. Daddy's cruiser wasn't parked outside.

We looked at each other, both waiting for the other one to do something, when Mike Newton's voice travelled through the patched and rusty screen on the door.

"Bella. I know you're home, I can hear Wheel of Fortune. Let me in." His voice leered at me, the menacing tone that had been growing over the past weeks seeped into his sentence and I feared what he might say next.

We both stayed still, Daddy waiting for me to answer my 'friend' while I clutched that chipped dinner bowl with both hands.

"Bella. Fucking open the door. You know you want to," Mike snarled, and he started rapping on that door with a furious fist, making it slap and weave on its old hinges.

Daddy looked over to me with his eyes narrowed and saw what I could only imagine was my pale face, scared and nervous in the yellow of the dirty, overhead lights of the trailer. I watched as he got up, still in his uniform, and walked to the screen. "Can I help you, son?"

I could almost hear Mike's eyes as they probably widened in surprise at seeing the deputy standing in the doorway in front of him. I was expecting him to apologize and quickly turn away, but no, not this new Mike Newton.

"Bella and me have a date tonight." I stood there, incredulous at his gumption and wondering just what in the fuck he thought I'd do. Go blow him behind the trailer while my father was there? I looked back at Daddy who was looking back at me. We stared at each other a moment before I slowly shook my head, my nerves and fear most likely evident on my face.

I watched as Daddy toed the screen door open and ran his hand over his face. He leaned up against the doorframe and looked at the boy outside. "I don't think you do."

"She told me to come here tonight. Is she in there? Go ask her yourself." I heard Mike's voice raise, getting angry.

"I'm gonna tell you what, son. You're gonna turn around, and walk on back to wherever it is you came from. I don't expect to see you here again." As he said this, I watched as he slid his hand up to the handle of his pistol, resting in its holster on his belt loop. Daddy inclined his head towards Mike, staring him down, and said, "Now get."

A moment of silence passed as I guess Mike was contemplating what to do, like it wasn't obvious, before he said, "Tell Bella that Mike will see her at school tomorrow." I heard the dust shuffling outside, signaling his leaving.

Daddy didn't say anything as he watched Mike Newton walk away, and he stood at that post with the door open until he finally let it close slowly and turned to me. "You want to tell me what that was about?" he asked, his eyes full of something I hadn't seen aimed towards me in quite some time. Concern.

I put the bowl in the cupboard and hung the frayed dishtowel on the peg next to he sink. As grateful as I was to this man for acting a bit like a father, he didn't immediately go postal with the way Mike spoke to me, and that burned. I shook my head and left Daddy standing there, watching me as I walked away. "No." Was all I said.

* * *

_**There is a light ahead. Thank you all for the support of this story, and for your trust.**_

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Glycerine by Livie79**

Glycerine: Sweet, clear, odorless...harmless, unless mixed with the wrong ingredients. When Bella decided to fulfill a fantasy, Edward was happy to oblige. No strings, no obligations. But when their paths cross months later, a spark is ignited and the tables are turned. Will the highly combustible mixture of lust and love survive or create an explosion that will destroy them both?

* * *

**_The Sinners _are coming. Make sure to put them on your alerts. Find the link in my profile or fave authors.**

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_**As always, thank you to Carrie ZM and LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Remember, reviews make me happy!**_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_**Waiting for you to come along  
Waiting for you to hear my song  
Waiting for you to come along  
Waiting for you to tell me what went wrong  
This is the strangest life I've ever known **_

**- "Waiting for the Sun", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

Our time together in Mr. Banner's class remained the same as it had been. He sharpened his pencils and snapped their points while I peeked every once in a while to watch his hands move. They were strong and angry in their grip, and I looked on in yearning, as the veins in his arms would protrude, carrying his blood. I ached to trace my fingers along those rigid lines. I never looked at him directly, we never spoke, but somehow I just knew that we were both completely aware of the other.

I was both thrilled and horrified at the idea that someone, besides Mike Newton, had taken even just the slightest bit of notice in me. Every once in a while, his black rimmed eyes would meet mine across that cracked asphalt, neither of us smiling at the other, just looking. He'd eat and I'd stare. Once I brought a sandwich with me and ate it while he carved up his apple, but it felt weird so I didn't bring one again.

I no longer hid behind the history book. I think both Edward Masen and I knew why I was out there, day in, day out. The apple cores collected at my feet until the janitorial staff finally cleaned up outside and swept them away; off to some landfill where the crows and the chicken vultures would find them and eat them up. My watching never seemed to bother him. He'd throw the core, tilt his head to light a cigarette, and I'd long to bathe in the gray smoke that escaped his mouth and circled around him like a halo. Since he saved his cores for me, he took to expertly flicking the spent cigarettes at the lunch-goers, which made the circle widen even more. I envied the fact that he seemed to be able to launch those butts far into the crowd. I wanted to start smoking so he could teach me.

One oppressive afternoon, the buzz of insects that seemed ever present on muggy spring days melded with the din of the students, their combined sound lulling me as I sat on my perch with my knees drawn up to my chest. My chin rested while my arms clasped each other, keeping myself contained while I daydreamed. A sudden movement from Edward made me startle, and I watched as he sat up stiffly against the tree, knife and apple halfway to his mouth. The lips that had been open waiting to eat had turned into an almost snarl, and his head dipped while his eyes remained steady and narrowed.

At first, I assumed he was about to get an unwelcome visitor in his invisible circle, and I was excited to see what he'd do. I quickly followed his line of sight, wondering who exactly had riled Edward up. My eyes widened as I watched Mike Fucking Newton walk towards _me_. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his shoulders up around his ears, but he appeared to stride with purpose. My eyes quickly shot behind him and saw Jessica with her mouth open, as she watched him come my way. I started to scramble, to untie my limbs from each other, my heart beating rapidly and my mouth dry.

He menacingly said, "tonight", as he walked past, under his breath as his eyes scanned my body absently, and continued on around the corner of the red brick building.

I sat there, half sitting, half kneeling, as my knee painfully dug into the cement and looked over to Edward Masen, his eyes narrowed in the direction Mike went until he turned those angry eyes on me. There was no way he could know what had been going on or overheard what Mike had just said, but I'd never felt such shame in my life, such disapproval. I got up and ran down my rabbit hole on shaky legs. I pressed myself up against the wall, watching the shadows that came through the window high above my head, and slowly slipped to the floor.

* * *

The feeling of closeness I'd achieved with Edward shattered the day Mike Fucking Newton approached me in the quad. Although I'd managed to be at the McCarty's the evening he'd done that, I spent the next week much like I had previously, hiding in my bathroom; unable to observe him at lunch for fear those black eyes I'd seen shooting liquid fire into my own would still be there. Or worse, not fall upon me at all. I didn't understand the look that had been turned my way that day, as I hadn't done anything. I didn't ask Mike to approach me. I didn't even reply to that fucker. But he'd ruined it.

I missed my apple cores, and in class, the scraping and snapping of his yellow pencil sounded like an act of disgust to my paranoid ears. I imagined it getting progressively more angry and violent as the week went on. I was a fool though, to think that I affected Edward Masen at all.

The all-encompassing gloom that had left me when I'd found some weird comfort in watching Edward was back, making me desolate in the mornings and bitchy at night. I'd take it out on my father, who escaped to his cooler instead of wanting to join me for dinner like he had begun to do, and that only made me feel worse. I needed something, anything, to hold onto the feeling I got when Edward Masen knew I existed.

The thought came to me while I was walking one morning, through the swampy brush the dragonflies favored, that made up the shortcut from my trailer park to the road that led to school. I knew where one of Edward Masen's possessions lay.

I needed it.

As soon as I hatched my plan I felt euphoric. The idea of having something he touched, something he might be grateful to have returned, made me pick up my speed and hightail it to a place where I never wanted to be early.

I slunk by the school's main office with my head down and my eyes on the door, trying to discern who might be inside. I had never been called in to see the principal so I had no idea what kind of hours Mr. Black or Mrs. Cope kept. I was happy to see I'd made it early enough that the office was open and brightly lit but unoccupied. There was a pink sweater on the back of Mrs. Cope's chair, and her computer was on, but she was nowhere to be found.

In case anyone happened to be in the hallway, I walked in quickly and moved around the large counter that held stacks of pamphlets and cheery, colored piles of paper in wire baskets. Reaching Principal Black's door, I was stunned but happy to see it wide open with the lights off. Bella Swine never caught a break. I took it as a sign that this was meant to be.

I made my way swiftly into the generic space. When I glanced around I saw a flag that hung from its pole in the corner, stacks of folders and papers sat on the window ledge, and the peeling yellow paint that held inspirational posters like "You Can Do It!" and "It's Never Too Early To Choose A Career!" I scoffed at both and went directly to the large metal desk that took up most of the room. The first drawer I tried was locked, and I feared the rest would be as well. As I tried the one below, I found that it also was locked. I opened the skinny middle drawer to hunt for keys all while keeping an eye and ear on the door. No keys.

Standing back slightly defeated, I noticed the other side of the desk also held two drawers, and I moved to open the top one. Unlocked. But it held nothing of value to me. I pulled at the bottom drawer on the other side, surprised when it slid open. I heard a clink deep inside when I pulled it out further, revealing a half drunk bottle of bourbon, and laid my eyes upon the object the glass had clinked against.

Edward Masen's confiscated knife was there, lying in the drawer like it had been waiting just for me.

I didn't hesitate as I grabbed it; sad I couldn't savor the moment my flesh touched something his had. Anxious to enjoy my victory in peace, I slid the drawer closed and tiptoed to the door, relieved to see the office still empty, and booked it out of there, running straight to my bathroom in the basement.

I immediately holed up in a stall and pulled the knife out of my pocket slowly, admiring the wood handle as it shared space with the cool metal sides that housed the blade. I ran my thumb over the worn wood, finding a small "EM" which looked to have been burned into the handle. I would've known it was his without that confirmation, I could feel him in it. With my thumbnail, I pried the blade out; careful of its sharp edge as I brought the five inches of steel up and clicked it in place. Mesmerized, I stared at it, turning it over in my hands. Slowly, I touched the point to my lip, pressed the tip into my flesh, and closed my eyes.

The plan was to return it to him in class, as he shaved his pencil and broke his points. I thought I'd just casually slip it onto his desk, no words exchanged, but hopeful that he would see unmistakable meaning behind the action nonetheless.

Mike Newton fucked that up too.

When Mr. Banner's back was to us, writing some formula on the board I'd never memorize, I was just about ready to pull the knife out of my pocket when diagonally to my right, Mike leaned back on his chair towards me. I recoiled instantly, stunned, getting as far back in my own chair as I could. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Edward's head snapped up and his scraping stopped just as Mike whispered a crude warning of his intentions towards me that evening. It took everything I had in me not to pull that knife out and stab him in the back of his neck as I watched him turn back towards the front of the room. I sat there for the rest of the class burning with hatred at Mike Newton and his fucking four-inch dick.

And I hated myself for allowing it anywhere near me in the first place.

* * *

The next morning, after a blessedly late night spent at the McCarty's, I rimmed my eyes black as night, hoping that maybe Edward would look at me and see something other than the tramp he probably thought I was. I was in desperate need for him to become a kindred spirit, something that I didn't know I'd longed for until he had come along. I'd never had a crush on anyone, or been in love, but what I felt towards Edward Masen was what I assumed was the closest thing. I felt more for someone that had said a total of six words to me than I did my own father.

As I stood by my locker, instead of the shuffle scuff I was anticipating, I heard sobbing and cautiously looked over to see Jessica Stanley surrounded by the D-BAGS. They were consoling her and patting her back while she made a show of dabbing her eyes delicately and trying to not let her mascara run. I started to turn back around, but Jessica Stanley stopped her sniveling when she saw me looking, and spit out words full of poison. "Fucking Bella Swine is a _whore_!"

I stood still; realization of what was said fell over me, which made bile rise in my throat, and my hands shake. It was now confirmed. Mike Newton's public displays had been noticed. Our trysts, revealed.

I didn't know what to do, I wanted to run, but I'd been trying so hard not to let them get to me. It wasn't until I heard the song of those boots, so close to me, that I felt like I was about to cry. Something I'd never felt when they'd tormented me in the past.

Because those words had to have fallen into Edward Masen's ear, and now he'd know just what I was.

A small part of me had hoped that maybe just the sound of Jessica's whiny voice would be reason enough for him to smash her head into her locker. I was disappointed, however, when he walked past as he always did, through a sea of silent students, and all you could hear was the shuffle scuff and the muted sounds of Jessica's sniveling. If he'd heard what was said, it had made no impression on him at all.

I debated all morning about not going to math, but my fixation wouldn't let me hide. I couldn't miss the chance to be so close to Edward, even if he thought I was nothing better than the dirt on his shoe, much like everyone else did.

I tried to get lost in the scraping and snapping, wanting it to fill a hole that had silently opened itself up in me, a hole I'd thought I'd long covered in scar tissue. I stared blankly at the back of Lauren's head, my foot keeping time with the noises coming from the knife next to me, when I was suddenly pulled from my haze as a piece of paper flew towards me, all folded up into a missile that landed in the space between me and Edward Masen.

Mike's eyes followed the note with a look of incredulity on his face that he'd missed, before he cowered and turned quickly back to stare at Mr. Banner. Anyone could have seen him lob that thing at me, and I glared at the back of his head, pissed that he was a fuckbag and decided whispering wasn't enough of a way to make me suffer. While I was staring daggers at Mike, the scraping stopped on my left, and I saw a boot slink out next to me, landing with a stomp on top of the note, and trapped it under its chewed sole.

I looked down to watch the boot slide slowly across the linoleum, and the fear at having him read its contents made my stomach clench. My eyes started to sting, my hands started to sweat, and as he reached down I almost stopped him. Our blackened eyes met across the aisle, but he didn't give it to me once it was firmly in his hand. He opened it slowly, like a fucking present, before throwing it on my desk. "I doubt this is for me." The second thing Edward Masen ever said to me. I looked at the note.

_Seven o'clock tonight. I'll be coming in your mouth._

The paper lay where he had thrown it and I looked at Edward. His jaw was clenched and the veins in his arm were straining.

Scrape, snap.

I let that note sit on my desk for what felt like an hour; I'd felt so dirty after I'd seen what it had said, and I didn't want to claim it in front of Edward, which to me felt like I was accepting the invite.

I went home that afternoon and stripped off everything I had on and hopped into the shower, scrubbing the day off of me. I had a private funeral for one of my favorite shirts, the smiley face with the red bullet hole in its round head, and threw it and my jeans into the trash. I didn't have much in the way of clothing, but I knew that outfit would never be worn again.

I spent that night holed up in the service room off of the main office where the decrepit washing machines spluttered and clanked, surrounded by the old women playing bridge while waiting for their husbands grungy underwear to come clean. I held Edward Masen's knife in my hand and opened and closed the blade repeatedly.

* * *

As if my life wasn't shitty enough to begin with before Mike Newton made it worse, I started the next day with another note.

_Fucking bitch, where were you? _

This time left in my locker. He must've pushed it through the slats. I'd never had a note in my locker before, and the thought that the first one I ever received was from Mike Newton left me feeling sad.

I crumpled it in my hand and shoved it in my pocket, where it sat next to the knife I still held. I didn't turn to look at Edward Masen that day, and he didn't pause near me. I purposely avoided looking over to Mike, having decided I would never meet those soulless eyes again if I could help it.

I got to math before everyone else as I always did and placed the note on Edward's desk, still crumpled in its ball and I sat, waiting and hiding behind my hair.

I closed my eyes and waited for the sound; laughter, chairs scraping, zippers being closed on purses. I waited and waited and then it came, walking around me and settling next to me. I heard nothing for a moment, and I swallowed, too afraid he'd shoved it out of his way to land on the floor without a glance. It was an endless moment before I heard the sound of hand on paper, unfolding and smoothing wrinkles.

He didn't say anything so I mustered up the courage to peek. I watched as he tucked the paper into his pocket after folding it neatly and then proceeded to pull out a bright yellow new pencil. I sat, unsure that he realized the significance behind Mike's venomous words. I willed him to know, needed it more than I ever needed anything before. Even more than the desire I had to not be Bella Swine.

I resigned myself to forever having lost the weak fingerhold I'd ever had on anyone, and slumped back in my seat, dejected.

Until there was a new sound that accompanied the scrape, snap.

Edward Masen started humming.

* * *

I could feel Jessica Stanley's stare on me in the hallway the next morning and hear her little bird voice tittering away behind me. I tried to tune her out as her toxic words burned me. I now wanted zero to do with her boyfriend, but what she was saying was true. I had been sleeping with someone that 'belonged' to her. That was a fact. A fact the whole student body now knew. I wondered if being found out bothered Mike at all, as I'm sure no one would've high-fived him for having fucked Bella Swine.

She went on for a bit about my hair and clothing, and how apparently she'd broken up with Mike the night before and now hoped his dick fell off from being dipped in me.

"Like mother, like daughter," she'd started, loud enough to make sure I heard. "Stealing other people's men because they don't feel loved. Awwww," she snickered, and I chanced a glance at her and saw Angela standing nearby, her face contorted in pain and the stabbing guilt in my body ripped fresh. I'd forever pay for what my mother had done. That was clear. Who was I to think that it would ever end or be forgotten?

I put a book away onto the top shelf when she continued. "Bella Swine can't get anyone to love her. She's only good for spreading her legs. Who the fuck would ever want to be near her diseased corpse is beyond me." Instead of the chorus of laughs I was expecting, the hallway got unexpectedly quiet. An eerie kind of quiet that made the back of your neck tingle, and that's when I felt it.

Edward Masen was standing right next to me. I hadn't heard his boots over my own ears ringing from Jessica's words, and he hadn't said anything, hadn't pointed out his company to me, but I could almost feel the knife vibrating in my pocket in recognition of his closeness. I slowly turned my head and saw him there, his leather clad arms crossed and his feet spread wide. His angry eyes were shooting switchblades into Jessica Stanley, and I could almost hear her whimper as she turned to break his gaze.

I closed my locker, unsure what to do now that all eyes were on the spectacle his intimidating form next to mine made. I looked at Edward as he looked down at me, and he did something that made my black heart pump. He inclined his head, telling me to move with him. Mouths agape, the other students watched as I did what I'd never done before in their presence; I held my head high as I fell into step next to one volatile, possibly schizo, Edward Masen. I took two to every one of his strides as he turned down the hallway, and for the first time in my life when everyone stared at me, I was high from it. I was exhilarated. Walking next to Edward Masen was about as good as I'd ever felt.

We walked side by side until I stopped by my classroom and watched as he walked past, unaware of where my first class would be. My heart fell until he looked down to where I should've been and looked around confused, his eyes falling on mine as I stood and watched him.

"You're done with that shit, right?" he asked, as his eyes dropped and stared darkly at the front of my t-shirt, not really seeing but avoiding my own blackened eyes. I assumed he meant receiving certain visitors to my trailer.

"Yes," I said simply, feeling like there wasn't much more to say about it.

"I don't care if you sit with me at lunch," he said with a bored voice, but the nervous movement of his hand clutching his hair betrayed his coolness and had given me hope that maybe, just maybe, he really wanted me to.

"Okay," I said, before I slipped into the classroom, not even trying to hide the smile on my face.

Edward Masen had become my protector that day, and I knew that ultimately, he'd become my everything.

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Constant Bearing, Decreasing Range by beegurl13**

Two consenting adults. One wants more. What happens when the other doesn't, and never will? Is there such thing as true love in the real world? And will they see what's coming before it's too late?

_**As always, thank you to Carrie ZM and LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Remember, reviews make me happy!**_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_**Can't you see the wonder at your feet  
Your life's complete  
Follow me down  
Can't you see me growing, get your guns  
The time has come  
To follow me down **_

**- "Tell all the People", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

Doubt filled me as I walked out into the quad, my mind questioning that he'd really meant it, that he really wanted me there with him. I approached slowly from the open doors of the cafeteria that led outside, well aware of the eyes that bore into my back as I tried not to walk too quickly and appear too eager.

He was already sitting under his tree, and I watched as his face contorted with annoyance, his eyes burning at whoever was daring to invade his space as he heard my sneakers kick up grains of loose asphalt. My heart skipped in disappointment, and I willed my feet to run in the opposite direction. I was stupid, thinking that Edward Masen wanted my company, that he would want me. Before I could make my feet catch up with my brain, his angry eyes met mine, and they shifted, the burning dimmed, and with a quick nod of his head, I'd gotten confirmation that I was indeed, invited.

I sat facing him about as far away as possible while still sitting with him, and I swear I could hear the murmurs of those behind me. I'm sure those that hadn't been in the hallway when he'd come to my rescue were questioning my sanity while everyone else was most likely incredulous that perhaps Edward Masen liked me.

He didn't say anything at first, and I wasn't about to start any sort of conversation. He ate his apple, the knife spearing and gutting until about halfway through, he held the knife out to me, a shard of the fruit tipped on its end in offering.

No apple had ever tasted sweeter.

I considered pulling out the knife still in my possession to return to him, but kept my hands firmly at my sides, deciding the weight in my pocket felt too good to give up. In some twisted way, it made me feel like part of a team, albeit, a possibly one-sided one.

"Nice shirt," he said, his jaw strong and covered in stubble, as he chewed.

I looked down to remind myself of what I had on and realized it was the same shirt he'd had on earlier in the week. The Doors. "Jim Morrison is the best," I answered lamely.

He just 'hmmd' and stuck the last piece into his mouth. "Why would you ever fuck a dickweed like Mike Newton?" he asked suddenly, after violently chucking the apple core, hitting the person in question straight in the back. I looked over to see Mike with his body rigid, but he chose wisely to not look in our direction.

I turned back to find his eyes placed intently on mine, the black eyeliner he wore smudged and manic in its appearance, and I swallowed.

_Because sometimes the emptiness of not having any connection at all is too much to bear._ "It was easier than saying no," I shrugged one shoulder at my half-answer and pulled a lump of grass out of the earth next to me, watching it fall from my hand as I sprinkled it on my leg.

"That's fucked up," he said, with no hint of judgment or disdain.

I nodded as I watched his arms cross over his chest, resting back against the trunk of his favorite tree. "Yeah."

He pulled out his cigarettes and lighter, which I could now see was silver with the imprint of a dagger on it. I watched as he tipped his head the way he always did to light it, and when he closed his eyes and leaned his head back to exhale, I took the opportunity to study him more closely. I was surprised to see black ink on the side of his neck that faced away from me in class. It wasn't a pretty tattoo; it was hard and angry much like the wearer. It looked primitive, almost like he'd done it himself. It was a foreign word, and I itched to ask him what it meant.

I glanced back at his eyes from my lazy study of his face only to find them slit open, staring down his nose at me, and I flushed in embarrassment. I quickly saw his mouth turn into a smirk at the fact that he'd caught me. "He's a tweaker, you know."

"What is that?" I asked, my nose scrunching at the term.

"He's a meth head." His eyes squinted as he took a deep drag on his Marlboro.

My eyes widened, I shook my head at my naiveté, and recalled how sickly Mike had looked recently. "How do you know?" I countered, wondering if maybe Edward Masen was a drug dealer of said meth. I didn't really know anything about him.

He stared at me; his eyes still narrowed, and spoke. The words came out slowly, like he was revealing a secret, the taste bitter on his tongue. "One of my foster fathers was hot rolling." At my puzzled look, he rolled his eyes and explained. "It means he used. I know what it looks like. That kid is fucked."

"Oh," I said dumbly. Too afraid to ask about what he'd just revealed about his past home life, I soaked up that little bit of information he gave me and stored it for later consideration.

His eyes continued to look into mine, his unmoving gaze unnerving me, making me shift in my discomfort. "What's your last name, anyway? I'm fuck sure it's not Swine." He flicked the ashes off the end, and I watched them fall into the grass as embarrassment flooded over me at the use of my nickname.

I dipped my head and resumed pulling up green blades and scattered them on my thigh. "Swan," I croaked out.

A sudden bark of laughter erupted from him, the sound startling and unfamiliar, reverberating and twisting my gut. "You know your name is beautiful swan, right?" I could almost hear the mockery in his words, the disbelief that I could ever be associated with the word beautiful. I was a fool, plan and simple, for thinking that I could ever share a moment in time with Edward Masen.

It came out of me softly, my eyes burning behind my closed lids, and I willed for him to just go away, as my body was glued in place, full of shame. "Fuck you."

There was silence, his body as still as mine across from me. I waited for the inevitable, a verbal assault or quite possibly, a physical one. I highly doubt anyone that ever said what I did to Edward Masen walked away unscathed.

His boot moved, stretching out towards me as the toe knocked against my bent knee. "I think it suits you. Fuck everybody."

My heart raced as I looked at that boot, my insides swelling with the contact as what he said sunk in. I looked up shyly, my hair hanging and protecting, and directly into his eyes. "It doesn't."

He tipped his chin down slightly and flicked his cigarette at the crowd. His eyes never left mine, and I felt my skin crawl with discomfort as they began to roam my face, wandering to the ends of my hair which hung low, the tips brushing against my jeans. "Don't contradict me." I watched the line of his mouth as it slowly lifted at the corner, and I found myself smiling back at him, warmth invading every cell in my body.

* * *

It was an odd feeling, waking up and wanting to be in school. I got up earlier than normal, rimming my eyes with eyeliner and choosing my t-shirt carefully. I thought about what Edward had said the day before as I stared at myself in the mirror, about my name suiting me. I pulled my hair back off my face and contemplated a ponytail, but ultimately chickened out and put my blanket of protection back around me before heading out.

Standing at my locker, I heard the shuffle scuff, and I felt my body rush with adrenaline. Doubt crept in as to whether or not he'd stop, or if he'd perhaps already forgotten all about me when all I could do was think about him. When I heard him slow and ultimately stop next to me, my heart leapt into my throat and I looked up to see him in a protective stance, much as he'd done the day before. One arm of his sunglasses was caught in his teeth, the chewing motion making them bob up and down in front of his chin. His beauty struck me suddenly, and I faltered, dropping my book bag and spilling the contents of one opened pocket onto the floor.

Like slow motion, I watched as the knife clattered out onto the linoleum, skidding and resting between our feet. I looked from it, to him, and back again, unsure of what to do. I knew I couldn't just leave it there on the floor out in the open, but I didn't know just how angry he was going to be. He bent to pick it up, leaving the assorted crap that fell out with it on the floor, and straightened. I waited as he twirled it around in his fingers expertly as I held my breath.

"I'm impressed, Swan. Keep it." He held it out towards me and I glowed, taking it from his hand careful not to touch his fingers, and clutched it like the most precious gift I'd ever been given. I quickly shoved it in my pocket, rejoicing in the feeling his approval provided, and gathered the rest of my stuff off the floor.

We walked down the hallway much the same as the day before, not talking, but I reveled in his presence. I caught a whiff of his smoke and leather scent and willed myself not to step closer to soak him in and inhale deeply. We both paused as the door to my first class approached and with a scratch to his stubble-laced chin, he told me he'd see me at lunch.

I floated on air the rest of the morning. If anyone noticed a change in my demeanor, they certainly didn't point it out. I had no idea if I was calling attention to myself by not resorting to my usual duck and hide, and I found I didn't care. If they were talking about me and I hadn't noticed, well, then I just couldn't give two fucks.

I had a friend. A friend that everyone feared. There was a growing strength within me, a confidence at knowing that he'd chosen me, out of everyone, to let near.

I tried the sandwich thing again at lunch that day, and gave Edward half, while he cut slices of his apple and held them out towards me. We ate in silence, the throwing of the core and the lighting of his cigarette signaling the end of our meal. I pulled the grass as he leaned back with his arms crossed, glaring out at the student body for no apparent reason. Perhaps it just pleased him to do so.

I was studying the neck tattoo when he spoke. "So did your mom really shoot up the Wal-Mart?" I looked at him suddenly, his eyes alive with question and interest.

"Did you really stab your father?" I bit back as my teeth gnawed at my lip, and I yanked the ground, throwing the pieces away from me in rapid succession.

The look of amusement on his face confused me. "One of my foster fathers, yes."

A chill ran down my spine and I was fascinated. "Why?"

"I asked you first." He flicked his cigarette away, put the arm of his sunglasses in his mouth and chewed, waiting on me to answer.

I never talked about this. Not with anyone, not even with my father. They had put me in counseling, but I refused to talk to them and eventually stopped going. The fact that I was going to answer him was not lost on me. The pull he already had over me was mind-boggling, and the feeling of acceptance I had when with him was something I'd never had before.

"She did." I nodded slowly in confirmation. "Why'd you stab him?"

"He was a prick. Did she kill anyone?" He lit another cigarette and blew the smoke out his nose.

"Yes. Why was he a prick?"

"I found him on top of one of the girls I lived with. Who did she kill?"

I paused our back and forth, taking a deep breath before replying. "Angela Webber's father. Did you use the knife I have?"

"No, I've had many, many knives." He wiggled his eyebrows at me, and a bubble of laughter wanted to escape, but I kept it in when he continued. "Why did she shoot him?"

"They were having an affair and he ended it. Why do you like knives so much?"

"Because they're fucking awesome. Is she in jail?"

I shook my head, my hair swinging over my thighs. "She's dead. She shot herself after she realized…" I swallowed hard, the rest of the story feeling like acid in my mouth, my stomach twisting at guilt of something I didn't do, "after she realized she'd also shot and killed an eight year old boy standing behind him."

"Holy fuck," He said it so matter-of-factly, with no hint of disgust towards me like the rest of the student body, and I felt my body relax, unaware I'd become tense at revealing what happened.

"Yeah." And that conversation did more for me than the entire six months I spent in therapy.

* * *

I finally figured out what math was good for-passing notes and drawings with Edward Masen. I'd never felt so lighthearted, so much like the teenager I was supposed to be before I'd aged twenty years. There was a spring in my step and a gleam in my eye. I'd draw stick figures with X's for eyes, and he'd embellish them with whichever way they had died that suited his fancy. He'd randomly shoot me a question about myself, and my heart thrilled that he wanted to know me. We both confirmed similar tastes in food and music, Tex-Mex being the bomb, and The Doors being our all time, fuck favorite band.

I was high on Edward. Drunk in the way he made me feel-like I was someone that mattered. I couldn't get enough of his attention and yearned for his company to extend past school hours, hopeful that we'd eventually cross that line. It was something he'd have to do, as I was just too afraid to throw a wrench into the works.

Life was…good. Thankfully, Mike Newton had stopped paying attention to me and hadn't come over since I started being Edward Masen's shadow. At home, my father resumed eating with me, and the few words we shared were pleasant, even if they were still forced. He'd noticed a change in me, and he had asked, but I didn't voice what it might be. I was too afraid to admit the feelings I had to myself, for fear of it all dissipating and dissolving like the smoke that exited Edward's mouth. I finally understood what all of those love songs and young adult books were about.

I had my first crush.

Granted, ours wasn't a fairytale courtship by any means. Edward had not said one word about his feelings towards me, and we hadn't touched except when the toe of his boot would make contact across the grass. But that was enough for me. I basked in his attention, was prideful when I was walking with him, and over the moon when I'd do something that would make him smile at me in that smirking way of his. And making Edward Masen laugh was fucking epic.

Whatever lightness he possibly got from our friendship didn't transfer to others like his attention had done with me. He was still one scary motherfucker. And I loved that about him. I loved that with a snap of his eye he could clear the hallway. I loved that with a flick of a cigarette he could make someone cower. I loved the way he'd punch a locker near someone's head just for the fuck of it.

He never showed any sort of violence towards me, never once was I afraid of him. Not even on one rainy Thursday, when I finally saw Edward Masen's fury firsthand.

The windows in our classroom were shut tight against the water pounding the glass from outside, and the sky had darkened, making the fluorescents necessary. Their buzzing droned on over Mr. Banner's lecture, and there was an oppressive energy in the room.

Edward was quizzing me on Doors lyrics, and I had been proud that he'd yet to trip me up.

_I light another cigarette. Learn to forget, learn to forget._

I raised an eyebrow at him before writing my response. _Pfft. Easy. 'Soul Kitchen'. Try harder._

_Ok smartass… Dead president's corpse in the driver's car. The engine runs on glue and tar. _He pushed it my way, a smug look on his face.

I pushed it back at him, just as smug. _Masen, seriously? 'Not To Touch the Earth'._

He looked at me, frowning, and scribbled furiously before shoving it at me and crossing his arms. _I need a brand new friend who doesn't bother me. I need a brand new friend who doesn't trouble me._

He looked at me pointedly. If this had been a few weeks ago, I'd have taken what he said and turned it on myself, believing what he wrote to be from his own voice. Instead, I laughed at his pouting face, and wrote in return, _'Hyacinth House.'_

He shook his head and smirked, writing before he shoved the paper onto my desk. _You make me throw away mistaken misery._

My heart pumped as I glanced up at him, as he was looking at me strangely, almost dared I say, apprehensively.

I took my pen and wrote with a shaky hand. _'You Make Me Real'._

He looked at me after reading it, and I felt something course between us. Was it possible that Edward Masen had begun trying to communicate something with me? He picked up his sharp yellow pencil and wrote for a while. _You are locked in a prison of your own devise. And you can't believe what it does to me to see you crying._

I read what he wrote, and a lump formed where my throat should be. Our game had started slow, but had quickly escalated into something much, much more. _'Unhappy Girl' _I wrote, and when I started to push it back to him he stopped me, and indicated he wanted me to take a turn.

Thinking, I trapped my pen between my teeth. How much did I want to reveal of myself to him? If he had been doing what I'd hoped he was, then that was my chance to tell him exactly how I felt about him. Safely tucked inside Jim Morrison's poetry.

I wrote;_ I walked with you. You walked with me. I talked to you. You talked to me, _and passed it back shyly.

He passed it back to me again, the title_ 'I Looked At You' _written in his messy penmanship_, _and I turned my eyes to him. His mouth was tense, and he was moving his jaw back and forth before he nodded at me to go again.

With a shaky hand, I wrote what I'd hoped would not break the spell of whatever had been going on between us. _Tell you 'bout the world that we'll invent. Wanton world without lament. Enterprise, expedition. Invitation and invention._

He looked at my words for far too long, before he whispered towards the paper, _'We Could Be So Good Together'_. He turned to me and I nodded at his correct answer, my blood surging through my head and shutting out every other sound but Edward Masen's saying that to me out loud.

He picked his pencil back up, and wrote, passing it back to me with a firm hand. _The time to hesitate is through. No time to wallow in the mire. Try now we can only lose. And our love become a funeral pyre._

I gasped, my eyes focused on the word 'love' and stared at that paper like it was a sonnet from the lips of Romeo to his Juliet.

In my Edward Masen / Jim Morrison haze, I'd failed to notice class had ended. I realized this only when Mike Newton came up to me as the period bell started its piercing chime.

"Tonight, Swine. I'm coming to fuck you tonight."

I looked up at him with my mouth wide open in astonishment, like he was a foreign entity, a strange visitor in my new happy bubble. His skin was sallow; his face blemished with the evidence of what I had newly learned was meth use. He picked at his cheek as his eyes darted quickly back and forth between my own. Left, right, left right, in rapid succession.

It all happened so fast after that. One minute, his hand was on his face and the next, he'd put that hand on my desk and leaned down towards me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it coming before I registered what was about to occur.

A piercing scream escaped Mike as the sharp end of a yellow pencil stabbed him brutally in the skin that webbed his thumb and first finger together. I watched Edward's movement as he ground the pencil into Mike Newton's hand until the pencil snapped in half with a crack too loud in my ears. The half that was stuck in Mike's hand stayed there as I sat in shock, and watched the blood pool underneath.

I heard others screaming around me and saw Mr. Banner rushing up the aisle heading to my left. I looked up to see an enraged Edward, standing over my desk, his own thrown on its side next to him in his haste to get up. An action I hadn't realized had happened.

Mike clutched his hand to his chest, wailing with the pencil still sticking in the skin like a stuck pig. Before Mr. Banner got to us, I heard Edward snarl at Mike loud and clear. "If you ever fucking approach her again, I'll fucking kill you." Mike turned whiter than he had when the pencil went through his hand, and Mr. Banner tried to grab Edward, who angrily broke out of his grasp.

Mr. Banner barked at Eric Yorkie to take Mike to the nurse quickly, and the pair made a hasty exit around the ogling students, as his cries followed them out the door. I sat there, watching Edward pace as Mr. Banner tried to grab his arm again. Someone had alerted the office as Principal Black came storming in with the chemistry teacher close behind. The trio surrounded Edward, who with a look to me dropped the other half of the pencil I hadn't realized he'd still held. He raised his hands up and told them he'd go, but that they'd better not fucking touch him.

They walked out behind Edward, and soon after, the other students started trailing out, show over.

I looked at the puddle of blood on my desk, which had now spread out and covered my amphibians, and saw the half pencil lying on the floor. I bent down and picked it up, feeling Edward's fury still warm in the wood.

I flipped the pencil over, and with the eraser end, drew a heart in the blood Edward Masen spilled for me.

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Hooked Up and Locked Down by LayAtHomeMom**

All he wants is a distraction. And a distraction is what he gets when a night out with friends leads to a steamy hook-up. Of course, sometimes things look different in the morning... but that's the trouble with one-night stands in locked down Boston.

* * *

_**The Sinners**_ are coming. Make sure to put them on alert. Link in my profile or my fave authors

* * *

_**As always, thank you to Carrie ZM and LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Remember, reviews make me happy!**_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

_**Can you give me sanctuary  
I must find a place to hide  
A place for me to hide**_

_**Can you find me soft asylum**_  
_**I can't make it anymore**_  
_**The Man is at the door**_

**- "The Soft Parade", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

Needless to say, school without Edward wasn't something I had looked forward to. I couldn't imagine that he'd be there the next day, shuffling towards my locker to make my heart dance. I'd had no idea how to get a hold of him, since we'd never exchanged numbers, and I didn't know where he lived. I twirled the broken pencil above my head as I lounged on my bed and worried myself all night, claiming PMS so I didn't have to leave my room and talk to Daddy. If the police had been called, he didn't ask me about any altercation, and I hadn't asked if he'd heard.

I replayed the order of events in my mind over and over. The whole scene probably lasted not more than thirty seconds of time but seemed to go on forever in my head as I played it on repeat. There was no doubt in my mind now that I loved Edward Masen. And quite possibly, he might've liked me just a little. I'd hoped that what Mike had said to me had fueled his jealousy, but I had no idea. It was entirely possible he really was crazy and stabbed Mike just because he'd been itching to, and used that moment as an excuse.

The hallway was eerily quiet around me the next day. I saw no sign of Mike and was surprised I was left alone. The emptiness next to me as I walked was suffocating, but I swallowed it down and held my head high regardless of my solitude. I would show my pride if Edward had indeed stood up for me, and I'd punch any motherfucker that dared say one bad word about him in his absence. I tried to listen to see if anyone mentioned what kind of fate had befallen him, but everyone was tight lipped, at least if they saw me lurking.

I didn't know what to do about lunch. It would be easy to just hide away in the bathroom, but I didn't want to go back to being that girl. I'd been awakened, bloomed like a flower and even though he wasn't there, I wanted to remain the girl he'd grown. I decided that the tree was ours, even if he wasn't there, and I stuck my hand in my pocket to grasp the knife for reassurance as I walked under the branches and sat back against his usual spot, feeling the rough bark through my t-shirt.

I wished at the time that I'd had the foresight to bring an apple, kind of a way to represent him, and shook my head at my absurdity, because it had started to occur to me that Edward Masen was quite possibly already long gone from Archer. Sadness engulfed me at the thought, and I wondered if I'd ever see him again. I held back the tears that were threatening to fall in despair at the realization that whatever it was we shared, however brief, was most likely over. I couldn't imagine he wouldn't be in trouble for something like this and quite possibly already sent away.

I vowed right then and there that I'd leave Alachua County and Florida as soon as I possibly could, because the thought of having to go back to the sorry excuse for a life I had before him would forever be overshadowed _by_ him if I remained. I'd end up like Rosalie McCarty, pregnant and resenting everything about my shit fuck life.

I was lazy as the weekend passed, sitting around the trailer and moping. I said no to babysitting, even though I could've used the money, because I couldn't bear the thought of doing anything but wallowing in my bed. As I fell deeper into my Edward-less coma, I grew increasingly unsure about what I'd shared with him. If he hadn't been sent away, surely he'd have gotten in touch with me somehow by then, if I'd mattered to him at all. I didn't want to think that in his head maybe all we had shared was friendship during school hours; something to pass the day while locked up in that brick building just waiting to be released.

After not moving or eating all weekend, Daddy finally noticed or had had enough, and on Sunday night at his insistence, I found myself at his favorite restaurant, Los Abina's. He'd take me there every few months to get his fix of the enchilada special and a few Tecate's. I only agreed because I did like my Mexican food and remembering that Edward and I had that in common made me yearn to go just to feel some kind of connection to him. The meal that night, however, was lost on me as it tasted like ashes on my tongue. Ashes from a used, flicked Marlboro.

I was past desperate to know what had happened to Edward, so I did something I hadn't done in a long time. While he was good into his third beer, I started a conversation with my father.

He looked at me curiously as I asked if he knew what had happened at school on Thursday with Mike. I bit my cheek waiting for him to confirm that Edward Masen had been arrested and was in county lockup. Even though I sure as shit didn't want him behind bars, it made me feel better that maybe that was the reason I hadn't heard from him.

Daddy, however, had no idea what I was talking about. I sat wide eyed as he told me that the sheriff's office hadn't been called, and as far as he knew, no arrests had been made or charges filed by Mike Newton. He looked at me strangely, and I could see the wheels turning in his head at the mention of Mike's name, remembering the angry boy that had come to the door weeks prior. He asked for details, and I skirted most of it, just mentioning there was an altercation between Mike and a kid named Edward that left Mike injured. I made sure I spoke as if it was all Mike's fault before I resumed eating, hoping my full mouth would deter any further conversation. He thankfully let it go at that, and we finished our meals and left the restaurant, the whole time my mind swirled with confusion and sadness.

If he hadn't been arrested, if the cops weren't even called, that meant that he was out there, somewhere, not thinking about me at all.

* * *

Mike had returned to school, his hand bandaged in beige wrap, making it stiff and unusable. I was dying to ask him what might've happened to Edward, as surely he'd know, but I couldn't gather it in me to approach him. While I'd been revolted by him coming up to me when Edward was there to tell me he planned on fucking me, I secretly loved that he'd done so, and had given Edward the opportunity he'd taken so beautifully in his wrath. I daydreamed that he had, in fact, acted on my accord even if it wasn't true.

Mike ignored me for the most part, only once glaring as he walked to his desk in math, now situated on the other side of the room regardless of Edward's absence. I looked longingly at the empty desk next to mine and tried to see if there were any remnants of shavings left that I might be able to hold close. I didn't find any, and whoever had the job of washing the blood off my desk had done a good job, taking most of my frogs with them, which only cemented the feeling of loss. Everything about him was gone. All I had left was his knife, which still pressed heavy against my hip.

I was walking home one steamy afternoon in the week after Edward's attack, my hands brushing against the overgrown shrubbery and reeds that protruded from the mushy earth under my feet. We'd had a flash storm as we did most afternoons in Florida. A hard rain that lasted for ten minutes but didn't relieve the humidity or make the bugs stop their relentless buzzing.

I was about halfway between home and school when I heard a shuffling in the growth behind me, and my name called out in a single, sharp bark. The unexpected shout made fear shoot through me at first, and I thought maybe Mike had followed me and wanted to get his payback. But when the voice registered in my head, it registered in my heart as well.

I turned to see my Edward, the after-rain sun filtering through the storm clouds, causing the rays to shine down on him like he was sent to me from the heavens. I'd far from forgotten how beautiful he was, but seeing him walk towards me after I'd feared I'd lost him made him much more so. His hair was in its usual hectic mess, and the eyeliner was present, but he looked different. He looked…relieved. I dared to think that it had anything to do with seeing me.

I stood there as he sloped towards me, cigarette dangling from his red lips as he smiled and squinted in the sun. "Hey, Swan."

I put my hand up to shield my eyes so I could take him in better. "Hey." My heart threatened to jump out of my chest, and I was surprised I'd been able to say anything at all.

"Seen any cool shit lately?" he smirked, the cigarette bobbing as the corners of his mouth turned up. He stood there with his hands in his jeans pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet, waiting for me to answer.

"Yeah, a little bit." I nodded, my mouth threatening to turn up and mimic his.

He nodded back and took the cigarette from his mouth after taking a long drag before flicking it into the underbrush. He tilted his head and exhaled high up in to the air, and spoke. "I thought I'd walk you home."

"Walk me home," I replied dumbly. The realization that he'd sought me out and possibly had been following me, flooded my head, and I tried to regain some semblance of consciousness so I could forever remember this moment happened.

He just nodded. "Yeah."

"How'd you know which way to go?" I asked. I looked at him and he just shrugged one shoulder, so I nodded and turned hesitantly back in the direction I'd been going. My legs stepped high to avoid the puddles, and I glanced to my left a few times as I went, double-checking that he was, in fact, next to me.

We ambled slowly, the terrain making it tough to navigate even on a dry day. I let my hands return to brushing the feather-like tips of the reeds as the sun shone down on me and Edward Masen, as we walked side by side, listening to the insects drone.

It wasn't until we got closer to my trailer park that I began to worry about where I lived. I'd heard Angela say Edward's uncle was loaded, so I had no idea in what kind of house he might reside in. He didn't seem surprised as we picked our way out of the brush and walked through the gates of Arredondo Farms. Its cheesy depiction of a family waving _Hello!_ greeted us, and he followed me as I walked down my dirt trail.

I had been dying the whole way to ask him what had happened, and why he was there next to me, but I kept my mouth shut, scared to drive him away if he got mad at my questioning.

I scrambled my brain to think what I might be able to offer him in way of refreshment as we arrived at my trailer, but before I could, he'd opened up Daddy's cooler and found the lone beer that resided inside. He popped the top before taking a long swig, his throat moving as he swallowed. He held the can out to me, and I took it, tossing it back and drinking my share. I tried not to focus too much on the fact that my lips had covered where his had been just moments before.

I handed it back to him, and he finished it, crushing it and throwing it where he saw Daddy's collection of recycling. The can clanked down the pile of the overflowing basin and skidded to a stop on the dirt. We both left it there.

"So," I said, as I wiped my sweaty hands down my jeans.

"So," He parroted as he sat in Daddy's chair, his eyes shining brightly, mocking me and daring me to talk.

I rolled my eyes and sat on the cooler. "What the fuck?"

He laughed, and pulled out his cigarettes, quickly tipping his head and lighting the end. "Fucker deserved it." I watched the smoke blow out his mouth and waft between us.

"Well, yeah…" I trailed off; the thumping in my chest excited at his words and scared that the reason wasn't me all at the same time. "Why'd he deserve it…exactly?" I asked timidly, hoping against hope that he wouldn't confirm he'd only done it for the fuck of it.

He studied me with narrowed eyes and didn't answer right away; he just puffed on that cigarette for a moment. I watched as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, blowing his smoke down between his feet, where it mingled with the dirt. "He is not allowed to fucking talk to you."

I swallowed, my heart soaring. "Okay."

He looked up sharply. "Okay? That's it?" he questioned.

I shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah. What do you want me to say?" I hoped he wouldn't ask me to lay any feelings out at his feet; I was not ready to bare my soul, even to him. _Especially_ to him.

"You're not…you weren't...scared?" He looked down as he said this, one eye squinting at the fingernails on the hand that held his smoke.

"Of you? No," I said quickly, shaking my head, and he must've heard the honesty in my voice because he settled back in that chair and splayed his feet out, looking relaxed.

He dropped the spent cigarette on the ground before stomping on it with his boot. "I have to go. They don't know I left." I assumed he meant his aunt and uncle, but I didn't ask.

My heart fell in disappointment that our time was done as he stood and stretched his arms up over his head, which made his Metallica shirt lift and expose the line of skin above his jeans. "I'm not allowed on school grounds for the foreseeable future," he scoffed while making air quotes, "but if you go to the other side of the picnic tables, by that large group of rocks, I can sit on the other side of the sidewalk. That's not school property."

"You want me to meet you for lunch?" My eyes widened in surprise, and I hoped I was right in my assumption.

"Yeah." He nodded and looked like he was going to continue, but all he did was step past me. After he was a ways away, he turned back around while he continued walking backwards, and looked towards me.

"Oh, and Swan? I was behind you the whole way. I was just enjoying watching you in the sun too much to catch up."

* * *

Edward was right where he'd said he'd be the next day, sitting against a different tree, and I sat in front of the rocks that made up a low wall on the outskirts of the quad. A cracked cement sidewalk separated us, but we weren't really any farther apart than we normally were. It oddly felt like visiting day at a prison where you can't cross the red line to touch your loved ones.

He looked behind me every once in a while to glare at the students who had now shifted the invisible border in the opposite direction towards our old tree. I smiled as he brought an apple out of his pocket, and he grinned back as he shifted to his right to reach into the other side to grab his knife. He crossed his legs and got to work, while I sipped a Coke.

I wanted to ask about what kind of trouble he might be in, but we hadn't touched on too many personal topics. The most personal thing I knew about him was that at some point he'd been in foster care. I was curious as to why he didn't go to the aunt and uncle right away after his parents died instead of being put in the system. But I didn't know how to ask everything that swirled in my head, so I just asked what had happened after he left the classroom.

He chewed and swallowed. "They called my uncle," he shrugged, "he came to get me. Same old." He cut another slice and stuck it in his mouth.

"So…no grounding or anything?"

He scoffed and shook his head. "Fuck, no. They don't care."

"You said yesterday that you had to go because they didn't know you'd left." I pointed out, and stuck my straw in my mouth.

I saw Edward's eyes move to my lips as they wrapped around the straw, and I thrilled internally at the possibility that he liked what he saw. "We had agreed it would be best if I just laid low," he said vaguely, right before he chucked the apple core as far as he could. I watched it sail overhead, against the blue sky, before it bumped and skidded across the lawn, missing someone by a few dozen feet.

I waited for more from him, but he took his cigarettes out and did his head tipping lighting thing, then exhaled heavily. "So, no charges from Mike?" I asked and he shook his head. "Why not?" I was confused. I had been so worried, seeing as he was over eighteen that he'd be charged with something.

He looked at me and squinted, moving his hand to rub down his chin. "He knew not to. Has he been fucking with you?" His eyes flashed and didn't calm until I'd replied that he hadn't been. Satisfied, he stuck the cigarette back between his lips and fished around in his pocket. "Here," he said, as something flew across the sidewalk and landed at my feet.

A homemade CD landed in front of me in a clear, plastic case. I picked it up, reading the title. It was a Doors bootleg from June of 1970 in Canada. "I burned it for you," he said, and my heart sank.

"I don't have a CD player." I thought of Daddy's old albums and eight-tracks, pretty much a collection made up of Merle Haggard and Hank Williams.

His eyes widened infinitesimally before he shrugged. "Ok. We'll listen to it together sometime. Hold onto it." The promise of a future plan with him excited me as we'd have to listen to this somewhere. His house? Did he have access to a car? Would he share an earphone with me if he loaded it into an iPod? I felt giddy and tucked the CD like a treasure into my bag.

Much too soon, the bell sounded and he got up, wiping the dirt from his ass. "See you later, Swan." He grinned and tipped his chin up at me, before sauntering away down the road. I waited until he was out of sight before making my way back inside.

* * *

Edward Masen joined me for lunch and walked with me every day that week. I'd see his bronze hair mixed in among the reeds as he sat on an old, rotted log waiting for me, and we'd chat about nothing in particular as we strolled. He'd always ask me if Mike had bothered me, which I enjoyed because it made me feel protected, but the answer was always no. Mike Newton hadn't said a word to me or about me.

When Friday fell, I was disappointed when he left me at my trailer door and made no mention that he'd see me sometime that weekend. I thought of the CD tucked away under my pillow and yearned for him to bring up his promise of listening to it. He hadn't, he'd just walked away from me backwards as he usually did, before he kicked up the dirt when he turned around, out of my line of sight.

Later that night, I was half-listening to Pat Sajak, daydreaming about Marlboros and eyeliner, when the door shimmied on its hinges as someone rapped their knuckles against it. I thought nothing of it, thinking it most likely Mrs. McCarty looking for a last minute sitter after Mr. McCarty went to his card game.

I turned to look out the screen and my heart stopped at what I saw. Mike Fucking Newton was standing outside my door, and he wasn't alone.

Eric Yorkie stood next to him, looking a bit nervous while Mike looked out of his mind. Trepidation shot through me at the sight of them, but I swallowed it down and got up slowly. I shuffled towards the door without actually getting right next to it. "What do you want?"

"Hey Bella. We were just thinking we'd hang out," Mike offered.

"Um, not tonight, I'm busy," I replied, the unease creeping up my back at the way his hands were shaking at his sides.

"Don't be like that, Bella. We've been friends a long time, let's have some of your daddy's beer and watch TV."

I knew that watching TV was not what Mike had in mind the minute I saw Eric rub his junk with his hand.

I moved closer to the door, and raised my hand up to the handle; resting my fingers against it, ready to hold.

"No," I said, trying to sound strong and authoritative. It was getting dark out, and soon no one would see them out there, or see if they entered my trailer against my will. "My father, Deputy Swan, is on his way home right now." I saw Eric startle at the use of my father's position and hoped he'd have enough sense to scat.

Mike's yellow-tinged eyes narrowed at me. "Your daddy isn't on his way home, Swine, he's holed up down at Lou's, probably half in the bag by now."

Swine. The slur surprised me. Enough time had passed with no insults that it felt new and brought up old hatred. I ground my teeth and tried to sound as menacing as I could. "Get the fuck out of here Newton. He _is_ on his way home, and you know he won't hesitate to shoot you straight through your fucking methed-up head."

Like slow motion, I watched in horror as Mike moved towards the door, his hand rising to open it. I grasped my side so tightly, my knuckles turned white.

He pulled on the handle, finding resistance, which only made him yank harder.

"What the fuck do you want?" I spat out, grasping the screen door handle while I held it as tight as I could. I'd hoped it hadn't sounded as panicked as I felt.

"Let us in Bella. We're gonna have some fun. I think you owe me. A hand job at least," he cackled, holding up his still bandaged hand. When I didn't make a move to let go of the door, his face turned nasty and he spat on the ground. A revolting, yellow glob of mucus landed in the dirt at his feet.

Eric looked around at the trailers in close proximity; I assumed he was trying to eye them up in the waning light of dusk to see if anyone was around. He didn't look determined like Mike, he looked nervous. Which made _me_ even more so.

"Bella is gonna show us a good time, isn't that right?" he drawled, and started pulling on the door repeatedly, but I held fast. "Eric, I'll let you go first since I've hit that shit already."

Hearing those words from Mike Newton's mouth, even though deep down I knew why they had come that night, made my knees buckle and my mouth go dry.

Eric pulled at his arm, trying to get him to stop. "Let's just go, Mike, this don't feel right."

He turned to leave, telling Mike he should just let me be. I'd felt some relief, as I had hoped Mike would follow. I had never liked Eric much, but right then I would've begged him to drag Mike away from my step.

When it didn't look like Mike was going to leave, I did the only thing I could think of. I shouted as hard as I could through the screen, hoping my yelling was loud enough to alert someone. "What the fuck, Mike? Just go!"

I hoped and prayed that a neighbor, even though they tended to ignore us, would come to my aid. Maybe Mr. McCarty was outside. I shouted at the pair again, using both their names, and that's when Eric decided he'd had enough.

"Mike, I'm outta here. Come on, let's just go. She ain't worth it." He looked around the development to see if anyone was approaching. He pulled at Mike's arm again, and thankfully, Mike backed up away from me.

"This ain't over, Swine. I'll see you soon enough." With one last spit to the ground, Mike and Eric walked away from my trailer, and I watched, trembling, until they were swallowed up by the darkened shadows of the evening.

My heart was beating a mile a minute in my chest, my skin tingly, and I physically had to remove my hand with the other to let go of the grasp I had on the old door handle.

I'd felt so scared and alone after they'd left. Insults and mean girls were one thing but physical threats were another. I badly wanted someone there with me. I wanted my father to come home, Mrs. McCarty to come by, or wishes upon wishes for Edward Masen to decide to visit me on a Friday night to listen to that CD.

I contemplated going over to the McCarty's myself, but when I looked out the kitchen window, I felt defeated seeing their trailer was cast in pitch-blackness.

I looked around the kitchen drawers and found some old fishing string, so I hastily looped it a few times and tied the screen door to the window lock next to the frame. I knew it wouldn't hold for long, but it would give me a minute if they decided to come back. I was pretty sure they wouldn't, but it didn't mean they wouldn't another night. I knew I had to talk to Daddy about fixing the lock once and for all.

I retreated to my corner room in the trailer and sat on my bed, finally feeling the after affects of the adrenaline that had coursed through me, and promptly put my head between my knees to ward off the dizzy feelings I had swirling all through my body. I took big, gulping breaths and thought of Edward, my happy place. I wished I'd stolen one of his cigarettes, so I could waft the smoke around me like a protective blanket.

I don't know how much time passed, but eventually I got up to get some water. My mouth was pasty, and I craved the cold feeling, as it would cover my throat.

While I was drinking with shaky hands, I heard it.

A scuffling of dirt followed by an ominous voice that carried through the screen door to my left. "It's just me now Bella. Let me in."

This was it; I knew I was now done for. Mike Newton being alone and in my trailer was not going to end well for me.

I slowly lowered the plastic tumbler to the sink, and swallowed what remained in my mouth.

"I'm fucking serious, Mike. Go home." I tried to not sound scared, but he had to know I was. I approached the door to grip the handle again, and I heard him chuckle. I knew that he wasn't fooled by my false bravado and was in fact probably enjoying the fear he was instilling in me.

"What's the matter, Bella?" Mike snaked closer to the screen so that our faces were only inches apart, separated by the rusty metal mesh. "You so in love with that freak Masen that you've got no time for me?"

The mention of Edward surprised me, and in my sudden longing for him to appear, I momentarily loosened my grip on the handle. Mike noticed, and took advantage of that and pulled. The string held fast, which surprised him at first, until he got angry. He repeatedly pulled on the handle, cursing in frustration while I screamed at him to stop. I didn't want to run to the back and trap myself. There was no way I'd have fit through the little windows in the two bedrooms, so I clung to the handle and braced my foot against the jam to give me extra leverage.

I quickly learned I was no match for his drug-induced rage, or the measly fishing line, and when he pulled on the door one last time, I heard the line snap. I stumbled back and felt the small rush of humid air wash over me from the swift opening of the door before Mike stepped inside. He pulled the screen slowly closed behind him.

I backed up against the kitchen table as he stood in the doorway, looking me over from head to toe. "Come on now, Bella, we used to be friends. We can be friends again." His eyes were crazed, and I looked over to the phone lying on the kitchen counter. I'd have to get near him to get to it.

"Just leave me alone, Mike, please," I said, hating the weak, piteous quality in my voice, but I didn't know what else to do. I thought maybe the last shred of decency in him would hear my plea.

I was so, so wrong. He inched towards me, toying with his belt. "See? That's better, no yelling. It's alright, Bella. It'll be our little secret."

He came close enough for me to touch so I pushed against his sweaty t-shirt with all my might, which caused him to stumble back to the door, but my shove wasn't nearly strong enough for him to go through it. When he regained his footing, he looked up at me slowly, his lips lifting and his eyes narrowing, and the wildness I saw in him scared the shit out of me even more than it already had.

He snarled low and slow, and started to come back at me. "You fucking bitch. What the fuck makes you think that anyone but me would want to stick their dick in_ you_?"

I swallowed and grasped the table behind me, trying to remember what might be lying on it to use as a weapon. Before I could figure anything out, he had grabbed my arm roughly and pulled me to him, my body up tight against his. His breath was nasty, acidic on my face and I cringed. He brought one finger up to my face, and I had an overwhelming need to vomit as he brushed it lightly against my cheek.

He started talking in an amused, almost singsong voice. "Ain't nobody gonna love little Bella Swine with the crazy dead mother and drunk ass father. Not even a psycho like Masen. You might as well let me in that pussy of yours." With that, he lunged his mouth towards mine but I was able to turn it in time so all he got was a mouthful of hair.

I refused to allow him to let me believe Edward wouldn't want me, but part of me knew if I let Mike get what he wanted, surely Edward would never look at me again. I felt tears welling up inside me and fought with all my might not to let them spill. He tightened his grip and tried again, but I turned the other way, struggling to break his grasp. I began to reach blindly behind me; my hand flew over the table to try to grasp something.

"Fucking whore!" he shouted right in my face, unhappy with my unwillingness, before throwing me against the bench seat. He loomed over me and released my arm, moving to his belt, where he started to unbuckle and open his pants. I took the opportunity of his temporary distraction and kicked my leg out towards his knee, trying to do some damage or hit him in the balls. I didn't have enough leverage to knock him over, so he just bobbled a bit. I leaned up in desperation and spit right in his ugly face. He reared back and paused, wiping my saliva from his chin with a finger and stared at it, before his hand shot out and backhanded me hard across my cheek.

Pain exploded behind my eyelids, and my head stayed turned to the left as I sat there in shock, utterly appalled at what was happening. All the blood rushed to my face, my cheek pounding in time with my hastened pulse. I heard the zipper on his pants catching, and it woke me enough so that I shifted to try to get back up. That's when I felt something hard pressing against my hip.

Before I realized I'd done it, my hand shot down into my pocket and grabbed the only thing that ever made me feel safe. While he was still fumbling with his pants, I flicked Edward's knife open and held it at my side.

Mike looked from the shiny blade in my hand and up to my face, and laughed. "What do you think you're going to do with that, Swine? Hmm? You don't have it in you to hurt me. You know you want this, just let it happen. It'll go much smoother if you do."

"I'll fucking use it, you prick. Don't fucking come near me," I growled at him, my fingers tightening around the wood shaft. He scowled at my reply, and I could see his ire once again rise up.

When he lunged at me a second time, I didn't hesitate. I shot my arm out with a grunt from my mouth and pushed that knife deep into Mike Newton's stomach. It didn't register to him at first, but when I twisted it sharply with my hand, he reeled back and moved his head down, a look of astonishment on his face. His shirt was starting to soak red around the knife that was still protruding from his belly, and he stared at it a moment longer. His mouth opened in shock, before he stumbled back, hit the kitchen counter, and slid down onto the floor in front of the oven.

I sat and looked at him in disbelief, my breath exhaling rapidly from my mouth, pushing the hair that had fallen in front of my face away. He looked at me, his eyes saying 'what the fuck' as he continued to leak blood all over the old, sticky floor. I watched the red ooze in between the gaps of the peel and stick tile, and my body surged in wild delight as the life, like the blood, drained out of Mike Fucking Newton.

The only sound in the trailer was the TV, now onto Jeopardy!, and Mike's gasping, gurgled speech. I sat still, unable to get up and try to figure out what to do. I was slightly mesmerized by watching his mouth open and close like a fish, so when the door sounded at being flung open once again, I startled and the fog in my head cleared. I cringed and expected to see Eric's return, thinking he'd come back to join the party, but what I saw instead was the last thing I ever dared hope to see.

Edward Masen rushed into the trailer like he was on fire, and I momentarily forgot what had just happened. My heart sang, caught up in how God-like he was in that moment. I followed Edward's soulful green eyes as his raging stare travelled to Mike lying on the floor, lingered on his open pants, and moved to the knife sticking out of his gut. He then slowly looked to me.

I felt his fury as his eyes roamed over what I'm sure had to have been my very reddened cheek and watched as his chest started to heave in ferocity. His nostrils flared and his temples danced. The veins in his arms pulsed with the tension in his knotted fists as he gritted his teeth and mashed his beautiful lips into a hard line. His eyes went back to Mike's bleeding form and then again rose to meet mine. I breathed heavily as I waited to see what he would do.

As the wheezing from the dying boy slowly lessened, Edward Masen said the three words I'd remember for the rest of my life. It was a simple sentence, but one that held more power over me than anything ever had.

It was that moment, backed by everything else that had led up to it, that would mark the beginning of the end of the girl formerly known as Bella Swine.

"_Get. Your. Shit."_

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**High Fidelity by IReen H**

Damaged Edward, damaged Bella. Two sides of the same scarred coin. When one side is up, the other is down. Language and lots of it. Lemons eventually. It's a slow burn, slow and painful. Mature. Lots of random pop culture references.

**_As always, thank you to Carrie ZM and LayAtHomeMom for their hard work._**

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	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_**Blood screams her brain as they chop off her fingers  
**__**Blood will be born in the birth of a nation  
**__**Blood is the rose of mysterious union  
**_

– "**Peace Frog", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

"_Get. Your. Shit."_

I stare at Edward while his words sit in my ears not making sense, and not making their way to my brain. Is his fury aimed at me? Does he think I invited Mike in? I look at Mike again, his pants lying open, exposing his gray underwear. My mind starts to fly in a thousand directions, caught up in the chaos of what has just happened. He has to see what the real story is here, doesn't he? I look back up to his flaming eyes and try to wrap my head around everything. Edward being angry over something that's been done to me doesn't feel right in my gut. I also don't understand what it is that he's asking me to do, so I start with the easier of the questions.

"Get what shit?" I ask, sitting up on the bench and placing a shaky hand on my pounding cheek. I cringe at the connection and close my eyes. I can't see him, but I know he's moving closer to where I am, his presence surrounds me in a strange sort of peace as it always does, regardless of the underlying madness that is always within him.

I'm surprised by the contact when I feel his hand lightly tipping my chin up and to the right. The heat from this first touch of Edward's skin on mine burns me, imprints on my being, and spreads through my body like fire. With slowly opening eyes, I see him looking at my cheek, before he releases me and moves the hair away from where it's covering my pulsing skin. His gentle touch belies his intensity as he traces his nails along the mark I'm sure Mike has left on me.

Edward opens his mouth to speak, and when it comes, his voice is low, an almost frightening whisper. "He got much more mercy from you and that knife than he ever would've gotten from me."

I swallow, my throat dry and scratchy. "You're not angry with me? For Mike being here? I swear I didn't let him in." I feel the quiver in my voice and look at Edward with searching eyes.

He takes his fingers from my cheek, and I feel the loss immediately. He blinks at me and takes a step back. "Angry at you…the fuck for?" He pulls at his hair, the strands threatening to snap in his fingers. "I'm fucking angry at _myself_, Bella. I should've been here earlier. That motherfucker…" he trails off and turns in the direction of Mike's limp body.

He stands over him for a moment, and I can almost feel the sharp pain in my own hand as I see his nails dig into his palms. I watch as with a swift jerk of his leg, Edward's boot comes down hard, directly on Mike's crotch.

I gasp at the sudden violence of it, and Edward turns fiercely back to me. "What did he do to you, Bella? What the _fuck_ did he do?" His eyes are a mixture of rage and devastation, and I hold my breath as he yells, stupefied at the concern he is gracing me with.

"Nothing! He," I motion to my cheek, "did this. I fought him off, Edward; I wouldn't let him touch me! That's when the knife…" With a loud sob, I start to cry, the events of the evening finally ganging up on me and wreaking havoc with my already frayed nerves.

Edward moves back to me, and I watch as his boot catches and leaves a scuff in Mike's blood. He gets down on one knee and leans in close to me. "Good girl, Bella. The guy fucking deserved this, I'm so fucking proud of you." The look of wonder in his eyes drags me in and hypnotizes me. He looks amazed, gratified at what I'd done, and I have never felt so accepted in my life. I'm desperate to kiss him right there, regardless of the dead thing in the room with us. I can't imagine a better first kiss. Edward breaks the spell he places over me when he speaks, "But we have to go. _Now_."

"We're going? Where?" I ask, puzzled by his demand and still cloudy with the inappropriate timing of wanting his lips on mine.

"We can't stay here. _You_ can't stay here."

"It was self-defense, surely they'll see that." I think of the snapped fishing wire, the fingerprints Mike would've left on the handle, and my red cheek. "I should call my father. He'll believe us." Tears return to pour down my face, hot and wet with fear and worry.

I swipe hard at my cheek and suck in a breath at the sting. Edward waits until I'm looking at him again, and he scoffs, "He doesn't fucking know _me_, Bella, and I sure as shit don't have the best rep around here."

I shake my head. "You didn't do anything wrong. It was all me, they'll be able to prove that." Edward turns in a circle with his hands back in his hair, listening to my argument. "Give me the phone, Edward. You can leave, right now. I'll be ok."

At my words, he turns back to me, his eyes flashing. "I'm not fucking leaving you here in this shit, Swan."

I start to panic. "It's ok, I'll be ok. I can..."

"Jesus Christ Bella! Think about it for one damn second!" His voice barks at me and makes me lurch back onto the bench seat. His eyes soften when he sees my distress. "Do you honestly want to stay here after this even if they believe you?" He leans down closer to me. "Do you really want to be the girl that fucking killed someone like her mother did?"

His eyes stay on mine, trying to get me to see his point. I look at him, the remnants of today's eyeliner smudged around his imploring glare, and I finally get it.

Edward Masen is trying to protect me, but not from the police, or jail or whatever will come my way if I'm accused of this crime. Edward Masen is playing guardian angel, saving me from a life that is about to get twenty times shittier than it already is.

The urge to fling my arms around his neck is strong, but I just nod. Even if I hadn't just killed Mike Fucking Newton, if Edward Masen is asking me to leave with him, I'm not going to hesitate. There's no doubt in my mind that I'll follow him anywhere.

I stand and start in the direction of my room on wobbly legs, forgetful of the blood, and catch myself before stepping in it. A shiver runs through me, so I hurry to my room and grab my backpack, emptying its measly school contents onto my bed.

I start pulling clothes out of my dresser when I hear Edward yell through the trailer, "Not too much. This can't look planned. Don't even bring a bag." I nod silently to myself, following his direction even if I don't quite understand what he means. I don't assume anyone will think I _planned_ on shoving Edward's knife into Mike's filthy stomach.

I put the contents that have spilled across my bed back into the bag and drop it onto the floor. Grabbing a few shirts, a pair of jeans and some underwear, I look around for anything else I want before grabbing my favorite Doors shirt from my laundry pile. I dig around in a drawer for my momma's old makeup bag, the one with the small amount of money stashed inside, and shove everything into a Publix plastic bag before making my way out into the small hallway.

"Oh!" I turn back around and run to my bed, reaching under my pillow to grab the CD that has lulled me to sleep just by being there for the past few days.

Walking back into the dimly lit main room, I see Edward crouching over the lifeless body. He looks up as he sees me approach, and I notice that the fingertips of his left hand are covered in blood, five dots in the red liquid below him removed and showing the floor underneath. "What…?" I start to question, before he cuts me off.

"Are you done?" he asks sharply, as he stands to his full height.

"Yes," I nod, and step over the puddle in front of me, which is starting to congeal and turn into a dark, motionless stain. I nervously stand at Edward's side and watch the end of a cigarette he'd lit glow when he inhales. He throws his head back to let the smoke out with a sigh; like it's the best drag he's ever had, before he drops the butt on the kitchen floor and stomps it with his bloody boot.

"Rot in hell, motherfucker," he sneers towards Mike, and I look down into the unmoving boy's eyes. They're open, staring back at me and glazed over with death. I don't quite know how I feel about what I've done.

"Edward, what about the knife?" I ask, as I stand in place, my panic returning as the wood handle catches my eye, still sticking from Mike's gut. "Should we take it out?"

"Nope. Leave the fucker right where it is. Let's go." He shakes his head and smiles, an obvious gleam in his eye. "I have more knives."

"But it has your initials on it," I argue. Part of me is incredulous that we'd leave the weapon behind, and part of me is upset about the loss of my talisman.

It's then that I realize what his intentions are. My head snaps from the knife to Edward. "You want them to think it's you!" I gasp in shock, my mouth hanging open. "No, no, no!" I take a step back, and when he notices, he walks over to me.

The second time Edward Masen touches me is better than the first. His hands come up on either side of my face, the right one careful of my bruising, and he stoops a little to meet my stare. "It can't be you, Bella. I won't let it happen." I don't understand how he could be doing this for me; my mind is swimming with the why's of it all. He interrupts my thoughts. "I wasn't going to be here much longer anyway. Let them think what they want." His eyes move back and forth across mine. "Are you coming with me?"

There is no hesitation. "I don't want to do anything else."

The need for him to kiss me is back, and for a moment, I let myself imagine his lips lowering themselves to mine. A lively kiss surrounded by death.

Instead, Edward releases my face and starts to walk out of the trailer. When he doesn't hear me following, he looks back and reaches his hand out for the bag, his eyes searching mine as I hand it over. With a nod, I close the poor excuse for a door behind me and follow in line with his footsteps. Our hasty retreat through the dirt goes unnoticed in the silent darkness of my dismal trailer park.

Edward Masen is taking me. To where, I have no idea. As we pass the _Welcome!_ sign, I twirl around and wave happily at the family watching us go while Edward gives them the finger. A final fuck you to a sign that I'll hopefully never see again.

* * *

We walk in silence on the unpaved back roads towards the highway, the evening's events repeating like a loop through my mind. Even though my cheek is still throbbing, I'm nonetheless high on the adrenaline of the attack and the cavalry coming to my aid. My knight in not-so-shining armor is chain-smoking, flicking his spent cigarettes into the bushes. His other hand carries his leather jacket as our walk in the humid night air has made us both break out into a sweat. "You don't have any clothes," I say suddenly, the first thing that has passed between us for over fifteen minutes.

"I'm not worried about it. I can get what we need."

"I have some money…" I trail off and hold up the bag he had given back to me to carry.

Edward looks at me in the darkness, and I can see his impish grin under the cast of the highway lights. "We can always get money, Swan." He looks giddy, childlike, and I can't resist smiling back up at him. He looks like a boy on an adventure, and I laugh at the fact that the boy is actually kind of mental, and the adventure is very much an escape.

I follow Edward along the highway for a while; the few cars that pass whizz by and pay us no mind, until we get to the section that starts to contain activity. Fast food restaurants, department stores, and gas stations line either side, their bright lights blinking and beckoning us forward. When we reach a car lot, Edward suddenly pulls me over to the side of the building and out of the fluorescent glare from the overhead lighting.

"What are we doing?" I ask, and look around, noticing the lot full of old, classic cars. My eyes dance over the machines of various colors and time periods. Despite their age, they're shiny under the lights, and I figure this isn't just some crappy used car lot.

"We need wheels. I'm not riding a fucking bus," he scoffs and starts walking through the parked cars closest to the edge of the lot, farthest from any lighting.

"We're stealing a car?" I practically shout, and Edward shoots me a look.

"_That_ you have a problem with, but you're cool with gutting someone like a fucking deer," he says, shaking his head while fishing out a cigarette and his lighter. The fire basks his face in an orange glow as he lights the end before he clicks it shut and walks a few steps away.

"I'm not against car theft," I argue, and follow behind him. The mention of what I'd done shoots through me fresh with a cold tremor. I just killed someone. I ended a life. It dawns on me that I'm more excited about where I am now and who I am with than being worried about the fact that I don't really have any guilt towards anything that went on this evening. The idea of Edward stealing a car is actually not an unpleasant one, quite the opposite. I'm eager to see how he'll do it.

"Should I look for ones with keys?" I ask, remembering an old movie I saw where they stashed the keys in the visors. I doubt they would do that in this day and age, but you never know how stupid someone can be.

"Not necessary." He moves through the cars on the perimeter farthest from the highway and tries a few door handles. I walk in the other lane, doing the same.

I try a few before I stop next to a robin's egg blue convertible with a white canvas top. I don't know what kind of car it is, but it looks expensive and new, defying its obvious age. I notice Edward in my periphery, his sauntering gait moving closer until he stops on the other side of the car. "You like it?" he asks me over the roof.

"I do," I say and run my hand down the smooth paint on the hood, my fingers tracing the chrome detail on the side.

"The little lady has good taste."

I blush at his words and push the button on the handle with my thumb. "It's locked," I say, slightly defeated. I really want this car. It reminds me of carefree summer days of which I've never had but always envied. Pretty people with sunglasses on, going on romantic trips, and I shake my head at the thought that what lies before me is going to be nothing like that. Hell, I have no idea what's in store for me. For all I know, the cops are at my trailer right now, and we'll be picked up before we even get out of the parking lot.

Edward tries the handle on his side and finds it locked as well. I start moving on to try another one until Edward stops me. "Hold up." He fumbles in his jacket for a moment before pulling his knife out of the pocket. "Fuck it, like we wouldn't have the top down anyway," he says, shrugging at me, the smoke from the cigarette dangling from his lips causing him to squint. His arm moves quickly, slashing the roof by the window seam with a satisfying ripping sound, making a big enough hole for his arm to fit through. The click from the old style door lock resounds heavily in the empty lot.

He sticks the open knife in his pocket so the blade is sticking out, opens the door and leans down on the seat, his shoulder resting against the white leather while his hands disappear underneath the steering wheel. I look around to confirm no one is nearby, satisfied as the bank next door is closed and the car wash on the other side is as well. I step back from the car a bit so I can get a better view of him as he rummages with what I assume are wires and look around the interior. The inside is mostly white; its clean appearance a stark contrast to the browns and oranges I'm used to in the trailer. It feels like a new beginning, somehow. "It's so pretty."

"Pretty car for a pretty girl," Edward says distractedly as he continues fiddling with the car. My eyes widen at his statement and my heart thumps. I've never had someone just say something like that about me before. Even though I know it isn't true and he's talking without thinking, a part of me wishes he means it.

I don't bother to correct him or answer him, and after a few silent moments, the engine roars to life and Edward sits up, proud as a Cheshire cat. "Ta-fucking-da," he says as he punches his fists out towards the dashboard.

"Where'd you learn how to hotwire a car?" I ask, the illicit aspect of it excites me, and I make a mental note to get him to teach me when we have more time and aren't running from killing Mike Fucking Newton.

He barks out that crazy laugh of his around the cigarette still in his mouth, the smoke exiting as he speaks. "My parents are dirty as shit. They taught me well."

My mouth opens and closes, not sure if he's fucking with me. "I thought your parents were dead."

He revs the engine a few times, still grinning like a fool, and reaches up to unlatch the metal that holds the top in place. "Nope, they're very much alive." He gets out and I move towards the trunk, watching him push the top down before he quickly pulls out his still open knife and turns to me. "Let's get the fuck out of here, Swan. What do you say?"

I agree whole-heartedly and start to move back to the passenger door from where I was watching him put away the top. "Wait!" His voice stops me.

He saunters around the back of the car, coming towards me, twirling the open blade in his hand. "I may be a fucking bastard, but I know how to be a gentleman." He lightly grabs my elbow and guides me toward the door. He opens it for me, and I turn my face to his.

"How do you know I accept rides from fucking bastards?" I joke, a sudden carefree attitude permeating my body as he leans in closer. The playful yet undeniably batshit look in his eyes that I love causes me to lean back against the side of the car, as far from him as possible in fear I'll do something stupid with the nearness of him.

"Cause I think you like fucking bastards." The way that string of words comes out of his mouth, in his deep, gravelly voice make them sound entirely sexual in my head and I feel my stomach clench. When I don't move, he prods me into the open door with a small push, and I land on the seat with a giggle. The flirty personality coupling with his dangerous side is almost too much to take, and I have to give myself a moment to catch my breath before I sit back up on the bucket seat. He ambles around the car and gets in, grabbing the shift on the floor and turning the oversized, white steering wheel.

We slink out between the cars and drive over some grass to get into the next parking lot where an exit is. Edward throws his cigarette out of the car before stepping on the gas and peeling out, the tires squealing in protest. As my hair flies around my head and we speed down the highway, away from Archer and away from the utter despair of my former life, I know I've never felt as free as I do right now.

* * *

_**Follow me on twitter: planetbluefic**_

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**A Pound of Flesh by jaxon22**

To pay a debt she owes her father, Isabella Swan starts a new job as a prison tutor. Edward Cullen, with his own debts, is the Punk Ass inmate in her class. Can they fight the odds and their dangerous attraction to learn from each other?

_**As always, thank you to Carrie ZM and LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Remember, reviews make me happy!**_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_**You know the day destroys the night  
Night divides the day  
Tried to run  
Tried to hide  
Break on through to the other side  
**_

_**- **_**"Break on Through (to the other side)", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

The night is infinitely better than any I've ever had, sitting next to Edward Masen driving like a maniac.

He barely keeps his hands on the wheel as he lights a cigarette, cursing when the wind blows out the flame time after time. "Here, let me," I say, and tentatively reach out for the lighter. He hands it over, and I slide towards him as far as the curves of the bucket seat will allow. I flick the device, cupping one hand around the fire to block the wind. He leans his head down towards my hands and closes his eyes for a moment while he inhales and the cigarette catches.

I'm overjoyed with the simple act of helping him light his cigarette, and I stay perched on the edge of the seat while he blows the smoke out into the night air. It's chilly with the top down and the wind rushing around us, but I'm so warm from being caught up in whatever this is with him that it doesn't bother me. I lean my head back and look up at the sky, black as ink behind the clouds that appear to travel faster as we move below them.

I roll my head in Edward's direction and watch him a bit as he smokes and drives. Every once in a while his lips twitch in a smile or his eyes widen at nothing. I'm dying to know how his mind works; what might be going on in there. "So, where are we going?" I ask simply, and grasp the seat as he makes a speedy sharp turn.

"My Uncle Peter's house."

"I'm sorry?" I sputter out and lift my head, panic and disbelief rising in me fast. I start to worry about what he's up to. From conversations we've had, he's led me to believe he hates his uncle, why would he bring me there? I thought we were leaving, getting out of Florida, not staying at his house. Maybe this is all just one fucked up game to Edward and everything I've built up in my head about him is one big, fat, ugly lie.

"Don't worry, they won't even know we're there. I'll be quick," he answers, and I shake my head at my absurdity. I trust him, but part of me still feels on edge as I sit back in my seat. The knowledge that I'm never going to shake the fear that people want to do me harm is saddening, and it makes the loathing I feel towards myself and others rise up fresh. I question if I'll ever truly let my guard down.

The knife he used to cut the hole in the top is lying on the floor between us, so I bend to pick it up and run my fingertips lightly over the handle. This one is similar to the one I just used on Mike, only the handle is black lacquer. It feels good in my palm, heavy and threatening.

"You always had a thing for knives, Swan?" he asks as he side-eyes me while I slash the knife back and forth through the space in front of me.

I shrug. Not until he'd seduced me with his during lunch. "They're a lot more brutal than a gun."

He looks at me full on and I return his stare. "Brutal," he mimics.

"Yeah. I mean, a gun…you point, you shoot. It's over." I close the blade and hold it like an offering in my hand towards him. "But a knife means business, it's more personal. I can't tell you how many times I daydreamed about you using your knife on something. Jessica Stanley's fake tits, maybe."

His eyebrows rise on his forehead and he squints around his smoke. "Look at you, all badass."

I roll my eyes at him. Inside, I'm glowing with the compliment because being called a badass by Edward surely is a great one. "Dude, I just killed someone. I think that made me badass as soon as I did it." I notice the words don't taste as bad on my tongue as they should.

We fall into silence, the car twisting and turning as we approach Keystone Heights. "You daydreamed about me?" he asks suddenly, and my face heats at my misspoken admission. His voice sounds tentative and teasing all at once, and I can't decide which emotion is more likely.

"I…I wanted to see you use the knife on something besides an apple." I shrug, deciding to save myself certain humiliation. When he says nothing in return, I curse the fact that I have no clue what he's thinking. It's almost like our Doors' lyrics game all over again. Hidden meanings and jumbled words.

We remain quiet as Edward pulls up to a big stone mansion and cuts the lights. He leaves the engine running so he doesn't have to jack it again and tells me he'll be right back. I watch as he goes to the side of the house and climbs a trellis of roses up to a darkened window. He pries it open with one hand, and I hold my breath as he swings himself up onto the ledge before disappearing inside. I glance at the house and see one single light illuminating a downstairs room and return my focus to where he disappeared.

My eyes never leave that dark square for the endless moments I spend waiting for him, but movement at the front of the house catches my attention, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I see him exiting through the front door, a bag held tight in his fist. I glance behind him into the open doorway but see no one, so hopefully his stealthy mission went undetected.

I notice he's changed, now wearing a dark blue hoodie and a different shirt. He jumps over the car door to re-enter, throwing the plain brown shopping bag on the backseat with a clanking of metal. "Gathering your knives?" I raise an eyebrow at the sound and he smirks, pulling away from the curb and heading back down the street.

"There's something in there for you." He starts to reach one-handed behind us for the bag, but I grab it for him and peer inside. I figure he's going to give me another knife, and when I see the four on top of a pile of clothing, my heart melts. "Can I choose?" I ask.

"Oh, yeah sure, but that's not what I meant." I look up at him in question, and he reaches into the bag sitting on my lap. The knives shift and clunk as he pulls out some clothing.

"It's my aunt's. I thought you'd be cold." I unfold the lump and see a hoodie, dark gray in color and smaller than his, closer to my size. Edward Masen stole me a hoodie. I have the urge to hug it to my chest and smash my face in it, but I stop myself and just put it on. It's soft, and the wind chill lessens.

"Thank you. Won't she miss it?" I ask as I sit on my hands to prevent myself from touching him.

He lets out a sharp laugh. "No. She won't miss it." His vile tone towards her makes me wonder about the relationship he has with these people he lived with.

I watch the road as he drives, debating whether or not to ask. While I'm chewing on the string of my new hoodie, Edward pulls over into what seems to be the lot of an abandoned office building. "What are we doing?" I look around and see it desolate. The weeds in the pavement cracks are overgrown, and there's graffiti dotting the beige brick façade.

He doesn't answer while he reaches into the bag that's been returned to the back seat and pulls out a knife and a license plate. "The garage," he explains when I look at him in question.

He gets out and moves to the back of the car, and I scramble from the front seat to the back so I can watch him over the trunk. I see his arm twisting and pulling, until a license plate gets placed onto the metal in front of me. "Your uncle had a license plate lying around? Why?" I wrinkle my nose, thinking it odd.

"He owns a few cars he never drives, he's a bit of a collector. He has some old plates he's never returned to the DMV." His arm begins twisting the screws back in with the knife, securing the new one in place.

"Oh. Well, why didn't we just take one of his cars? It would've had keys."

The crazy bark of laugh shoots out of his mouth. "We did, Swan. He was about to buy this one. He was eyeing it up just today."

My eyes widen at this information, and I laugh at his obvious delight. "Guess you don't like him much."

"No, I really don't." He stands and tells me to root around in the bag for a pen. I pull out a marker and hand it to him over the trunk. He crouches down again, and sticks his tongue out in concentration as he's doing whatever it is he's doing. "There. Now we have an '8' instead of a '9' and an 'O' instead of a 'U'."

"More knowledge from your folks?" I'm dying to get more info about them, but he just nods and walks a few steps away before flinging the old license plate towards the empty building. The sound of glass breaking reverberates through the parking lot with a satisfying shatter, and he gets back in the car, throwing the marker into the bag.

We return to the highway and travel in silence once again; both of our hoods are up and Edward's smoke is billowing behind us.

I must doze at some point, the night finally catching up to me, and when I feel Edward pushing on my shoulder energetically, it scares me and I sit up quick thinking we're in trouble. I look around for blue flashing lights but see nothing except black road in front of us with weeds on either side. It appears we've gotten off Interstate 75 and are on a much smaller county road. "What? What's wrong?" I ask, and look over to him. His eyes are alive and he's pointing ahead of us.

"Watch."

I do as he says, unsure what I'm looking for, until I see it, looming large and bright and fantastic in its appearance.

"_Welcome! We're Glad Georgia's On Your Mind!"_

"Oh my god, Edward! We're out of Florida?" I keep my eyes on the sign as Edward whips past it, and I turn in my seat, kneeling on the leather to watch it fall far behind us.

My hood flies off, my hair is whipping around my face, and I raise my arms up towards the night sky, exuberant in my freedom. I feel like the world has lifted the crappy, shitfest of a life I had right off of me. I yell out into the air, a curse-laden goodbye to everything I ever was. I hear Edward laugh next to me, not the crazy bark but a new, soft sort of chuckle. I look down to find him looking up at me, the ever-present cigarette in his mouth, "Georgia looks good on you, Swan. We'll have to get you some peaches. They're not as good as apples, but…" he trails off and tilts his head side to side a few times, smiling at what he's just said.

What he's done for me hits me like a Mack truck and I swallow, the feelings I have towards this flawed but perfect person threaten to overflow. "Thank you," I say looking down at him, and I know it's not nearly enough.

He flicks his cigarette out of the car, and I see the butt land and spark when it hits the asphalt. "You did what you had to do," he says, watching the road until he turns his eyes to me, the burn in them strong enough to make me weak, "but I did what I wanted to do."

I suck in air at his statement, and reply truthfully, "I did it because of you. I couldn't think of anyone else but you."

"It's us, Swan. It's us against the motherfucking world." His eyes shine in the moonlight, and I feel like I've been found.

* * *

Edward drives for a few more hours until his eyes are drooping and he's out of cigarettes. We stop at a crappy gas station off of some local road that has a tiny all night convenience store. We both get out and stretch our legs, the crickets and bullfrogs that live deep in the weeds and marshes envelop the otherwise quiet station. The half-dead neon sign that buzzes high above the pumps attract large bugs that bounce and skitter against the surface, looking for a way in.

When we head into the shop, there's a man with his feet propped up on the counter, watching an old black and white TV. He turns his attention to us when we enter, and Edward tells him what he wants. I decide I need to use the bathroom, so I ask for the key to the ones I saw outside. The guy turns his attention to me, and his eyes look me up and down. "Are you okay, sweetheart?" he asks, and grabs the key from the back wall.

I hold my hand out, but before he can hand it off, Edward snatches it from his hand and snarls, "She's fine." I look at him to see his eyes dark under his hood and staring daggers. Edward gives me the key and tells me to go, never once taking his eyes from the guy who just shrugs. I leave Edward there to buy his cigarettes and stare the dude down, feeling a bit of a rush from his protective behavior.

When I enter the tiny bathroom, the face staring back at me in the dingy mirror makes me gasp. I never even looked at myself after Mike's attack, and the dried trails of eyeliner and tears have made my cheeks a roadmap of twisting black. My hair is chaotic, caught up and knotted with the wind, so I finger comb it as best as I can, and throw water onto my face. My cheek stings when I pat it with the rough paper towels, and seeing the eyeliner gone and my face clean, I can make out a bruise, not quite purple and not quite gray. Tears threaten again, but I remind myself that I don't exist as that girl now; I'm Edward's, whether he fully realizes it or not, and I trust he'll never take me back there.

When I turn the corner of the little building after I've finished, a man with another key in his hand hurries toward the direction I just came from, and I look to see if Edward is back at the car. I watch as he lifts and stops the gas nozzle from the recently vacated car next to ours at the pumps and puts it into our tank, starting it up again. Realization hits me so I drop the key on the cement in front of the store door, and rush back to the car.

"Hurry, men don't take long," I say as I climb back into the car and Edward nods, waiting a moment before shutting off the gas again and returning the nozzle to the other car to start the flow once again. I'm happy to see his darkness gone as he grins at me, the devil-boy one I love, before he gets back in the car to wire it up. This time it only takes him a second or two, and soon enough we're back on the road.

"Here," he says as he steers with one hand and fishes in his hoodie pocket with the other, producing an apple and a bag of chips. "I didn't know what you like."

"I fucking love Doritos." I open the bag and shove a few in my mouth, suddenly starving.

"I'm sorry it's not real food, I'll get you something soon. There's a motel we passed a few miles back. We should probably just hole up there for the night."

At the mention of Edward and a motel, my stomach flutters, and I suddenly get nervous. Being in a motel room with him is going to give me a heart attack. I chew slowly, my hunger replaced by my mind working in overdrive as we make our way back to the motel he saw.

The Seminole Inn is a shithole, plain and simple, but it's set far back on the property off the small road, which Edward likes, the vacancy sign is blinking, and the rates are cheap. Edward goes to secure a room and after a few minutes returns and tosses me a plastic keychain with the number '13' on it.

The drive to our room around the faded gray building is dark, the few lights in the parking lot are dim or out altogether and there isn't much activity in the rooms we pass. I can make out the standard motel setup; rooms lined up in a row, butted up against the parking lot with spaces right in front.

We pull into the one in front of thirteen, and Edward jumps out, grabbing our makeshift luggage, and waits for me by the door since I have the key. He looks around to see if anyone has noticed us, but we're alone as it's pretty late at this point, and I open the door.

The smell of stale cigarette smoke and dust hits me, but I'm just happy to be anywhere but in my trailer, so I gladly walk in ahead of Edward. He flips on the light and I see two full sized beds covered in muddy green quilts. The carpeting is gold, worn shag, and the furniture is ancient, but there's a TV and it appears clean enough.

Edward puts both bags on the little table near the in-room refrigerator, and after closing the curtains takes a seat in a nearby chair, pulling out his apple and knife.

"Which bed do you want?" I ask as I flip the TV on, just for something to do. I'm nervous as fuck, and I'm trying not to let it show.

"I want you in the one farthest from this flimsy fucking door," he says as he chews, a slight growl to his speech. I sit on the bed closest to the bathroom and sigh heavily, the weight of this night falling strongly on me in exhaustion. I rub my hands across my face and lean my elbows on my knees.

"Are you ok?" I hear Edward ask quietly from across the room, and I nod.

"Yeah. Just...a mindfuck of a night, you know?" I look up at him and see he's stopped eating and is staring at me, waiting for me to talk. "I think there's something wrong with me," I say, and drape my hair around my shoulders, masking my face from his.

"There's nothing wrong with you."

"Why don't I feel worse about what I did?"

"Fucker attacked you, Bella," he snaps.

I lay down on the bed with my body turned towards his, but my hair still shielding me. I hear the lighter click, the quick intake of breath following. "I was so calm watching him die. Seeing the life drain from him was…strangely fascinating."

Edward doesn't reply, I hear him inhale and exhale two more times before I finish. "I hated him. So much. I had no idea how much I despised him. He made me feel worthless, and I let him. I'm not sorry he's gone, but killing him didn't lessen the hate I feel inside for him."

"I'll hurt anyone that makes you feel that way ever again."

I part my hair and our eyes lock. "Why, Edward? Why me?" He knows I'm not asking why Mike attacked me, or why the world has been so cruel.

His eyes lower to the cigarette pinched between his fingers and he flicks the ash away. "I see me in you."

When he looks back up, his eyes are the deepest shade of green. I get lost in them, and dazedly whisper, "I see me in you, as well." We stare at each other, and he sits back and stretches out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. "Why were you coming to see me tonight, Edward?"

He takes a long drag of his cigarette and closes his eyes, cutting off contact and breaking the mood. "I wasn't. Get some rest, Swan. We've got a big day ahead of us."

A lump forms in my throat when I hear him say he hadn't been there to see me, and I resign myself to the fact that our conversation is over for the night. I stand slowly, and step over his feet when I grab my bag from the table. "Oh yeah? What's tomorrow?" I ask, dejectedly.

"The beginning of our great escape to fucking Mexico, that's what. It's time I went home."

* * *

Charlie Swan looks at the pile of cigarette butts under the simple log fence that separates his trailer from his neighbor's, approximately thirty feet from his front door. He'd been sent outside as soon as the sheriff and fellow deputies showed up to survey the crime scene, given his distress over his missing daughter. A co-worker is currently yammering in his ear, going over again and again what happened when Charlie returned home from Lou's, and found the dead body in his trailer.

He keeps staring at the pile, the twenty or so that sit there are the same brand as the one he found next to his cooler a few days ago, and a match to one found on the trailer floor next to the body, which is currently enclosed in a plastic evidence bag.

Charlie assumes it was the victim Mike Newton who had been watching his daughter and smoking while leaning against the old fence, most likely for a while so it seems because surely there are more here than just a night's worth.

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Caged by Savage7289**

This is not made for TV. This is the raw, brutal underground of no-holds-barred combat. Inside the cage there is nothing but me and the pain I inflict on those who dare enter. In the cage, I never had to worry about anyone but myself. When she started standing outside of it, everything changed. I was no longer fighting for the money or the glory – I had to fight for her.

* * *

_**The Sinners**_ are coming. Find the link in my profile or fave authors ;)

* * *

_**As always, thank you to Carrie ZM and LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Remember, reviews make me happy!**_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

_**Strange days have found us  
Strange days have tracked us down  
They're going to destroy  
Our casual joys  
We shall go on playing  
Or find a new town **_

**- "Strange Days", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

The crack of sunlight that peeks through the curtains wakes me in the morning. I'm still in the same position I fell asleep in, curled up on my side over the covers where I'd laid fully clothed as I drifted in and out of consciousness watching Edward smoke.

I look over to see the other bed still made and laying empty. I sit up, groggy, and look at the bathroom, finding the door wide open with the lights off.

Fear fills me for a second until I see Edward's shopping bag still perched on the table where he dropped it when we entered the night before. Hopefully, he's out getting some food, and as I think this, my stomach gives a loud growl in agreement.

I scoot up the bed to lie against the pillows, pressing against the cracked vinyl headboard while I flip on the TV that had been shut off sometime during the night. Scrolling through the channels, I daydream about Mexico and what Edward said about going home.

He had stunned me with that statement last night, and I'd gotten the idea he wasn't in the mood to talk just then. Certainly we are partners in this mess, or splendor, depending on how you look at it, and I'm confident he'll reveal himself to me when he is ready. What he said to me in the trailer about him not being around much longer made a little bit more sense now, as he obviously meant he was going to be leaving for Mexico. The thought that he was going without me makes my stomach roll, and I thank Mike Fucking Newton for his role in how I ended up here with Edward.

As I'm flipping absent-mindedly through various Saturday morning cartoons and commercials that flick across the screen, a picture on one channel suddenly makes me sit up straight, my eyes wide with shock.

It's me.

I'm looking at my senior picture; a scowling Bella Swine hiding behind her limp hair and looking utterly miserable.

My hands fly to my mouth, and the remote drops into my lap just as the door opens and Edward's body stands silhouetted against the morning light behind him.

"What's wrong?" he asks immediately, putting a tray of coffee and two bags down on the table. "What happened?" He looks to my stunned demeanor and follows my finger as I point towards the television.

It doesn't seem to be a full story, just one of those mentions before a commercial break:

"_If you have knowledge of the whereabouts of Isabella Swan, Florida police urge you to call the Amber Alert hotline or contact the anonymous Central Florida Crime Tips line."_

A graphic appears on screen of the phone numbers mentioned, and I look up to see Edward concentrating on the TV.

"Oh my god, Edward! They must think I've been abducted!"

He says nothing; he just turns to the coffee and grabs a cup, pulling it from the tray while walking to me, holding it out. "I didn't know how you took it, so there's cream and sugar in the bag with some bagels."

"Edward! What are we going to do? I'm confused, why is Georgia broadcasting this?" I practically shout, unsure of why he's not more freaked out.

"We're not that far from Archer, and I'm sure your father is using every favor and outlet he can," he says calmly, and hands me the brown bag. "And I hate to tell you this, but being the missing daughter of someone that committed a heinous crime is going to be newsworthy."

"They think someone TOOK me!"

He shrugs. "Good."

"Good? What the fuck, Edward! This _isn't_ good. I have to call my father and straighten this out..."

"NO!" Edward snaps out at me, shutting me up. Seeing my eyes widen at his tone, he softens his voice and kneels next to my bed. "Can't you see Bella? This _is_ good, this is what was supposed to happen."

"How do you figure that, Edward? So now they'll think you killed Mike _and_ will come to the conclusion it was _you_ that kidnapped me! Tell me how that's good?"

His brow lowers heavily over his dark eyes so that he's looking at me from underneath his lashes, and speaks slowly. "Because if anything happens…you have an out."

I stare at him for a moment, letting his words sink in, before my hand comes up and punches him hard in the shoulder. His body remains angled in the position my fist forced it into. "You listen to me, Edward Masen. Don't you ever fucking say that to me. An out. I don't _want_ a fucking out."

Edward dips his head down, and I worry that I've unleashed his rage until his eyes meet mine once again, and I see the hint of a smirk. "Did you just fucking punch me, Swan?"

"You're damn right I did, and I'll do it again if you ever mention something causing us to separate."

Edward's smile widens. "You're stunning when you're angry."

His words catch me off guard, and I blink. "Don't say things like that when you don't mean them."

"Don't fucking tell me I don't mean them," he cuts back, his eyes full of fire. "I don't expect us to _choose_ to be separated, Bella. You're with me. It's us." The repeat of what he said in the car last night after we'd crossed the Georgia state line gives my insides the same fluttery feeling. "Right?" he demands and raises his eyebrows, waiting for my answer.

"It's us." I nod in agreement.

He continues. "But that doesn't mean we shouldn't be prepared."

"Prepared for what? It's not like I'm going to turn myself in," I scoff.

"No, but it's entirely possible someone will recognize you from the news."

"I'll cut my hair," I say, shrugging as I open the bag. The heavenly smell of warm dough and butter fills my nose and my stomach lurches again.

"No, you won't." He fingers a strand that's brushing against my thigh, leaving a trail of fire over my jean-clad leg. "I like it just like this." When I look up, his eyes challenge me to disagree, so I just nod dumbly. "Eat your bagel," he says and pushes himself up against the bed, which dips with the weight.

"What do we do now?" I ask, and turn the volume down but keep one eye on the screen in case they show my picture again.

Edward shrugs, and takes a sip out of his own cup. "We move on. We stick to the plan."

"The plan of going home?" I ask carefully.

He looks at me a moment before he nods. "Yes."

"Mexico is home?"

"It was supposed to be a long time ago."

"What happened?"

"I'll tell you another time. Eat." He dismisses me, and I decide my growling stomach can't wait much longer, so I do. We munch on our breakfast and drink our coffee, watching for the Amber Alert to replay, but it never does. Once we're finished, I duck into the bathroom and curse the fact I have no toothbrush or toothpaste. I use the little complimentary bottle of mouthwash that I'm surprised to find in this motel and take a steaming hot shower, washing the previous evening's events off me with the motel shampoo and soap. When I return to the room, Edward has the contents of the brown bag spread out before him.

I sit on the edge of the mattress and finger the knives all lined up in a row. My interest in the knives makes me almost miss the package he's stuffing down into a new backpack that he's obviously purchased, the tags still hanging from the zipper.

My body tenses as I figure out what I'm looking at. "Edward…what is that?" I point to the inside of the bag where the contents in question have disappeared.

"Crystal methamphetamine." He eyes me, gauging my reaction.

"Why do you have it? Do you use it?" I start to question.

"No, I don't use it, Bella, give me some fucking credit. Do I look like a fucking tweaker?"

"Well, why do you have it, and where did you get it then?" I pry open the bag with my fingers to get a better look at the cloudy, plastic looking rocks.

"This," he says, pointing at the bag, "is money to us."

"You're going to sell it?" I wrinkle my nose, trying to make sense of this until it all snaps in place. "YOU sold to Mike, didn't you? That's how you knew he was using!" I say, my hand moves to my mouth, covering the loudness of my words.

"Yes, I did," he says simply, and puts my few items of clothing in the bag on top of the meth and puts his on top of mine. "But I stopped as soon as I saw…as soon as I realized…" he trails off, waving towards me, and I know he means when he saw Mike's growing aggression towards me.

"Wow." The information that's just flooded my brain makes me blink. "Where do you get it from?"

He pats the ass of his jeans and produces his cigarette pack and lighter. I watch as he tilts his head and inhales, letting the smoke out in a steady stream in between us. His eyes fall back to mine, fresh eyeliner heavy beneath his lashes. "Dear Uncle Peter. The largest crystal meth distributor from Florida to Texas." He looks up and his lips twitch suddenly, before he shakes his head and continues with packing.

My mouth opens in shock, my naiveté showing through. "I thought he owned an appliance store…" I trail off, and Edward snorts.

"Quite a few of those, actually. All fronts for his real business."

"So, we just go out on the street and sell it?" I question, completely unaware of how these things work.

"First of all, YOU don't do a fucking thing. I want you to forget you ever saw it, understand?" I nod my head, his protective nature for me coming through again and warming my bagel filled stomach. "I've made deliveries for him. I'll sell to them myself."

"Won't he be…mad?"

Edward's crazy laugh barks out, which makes me grin. "Don't you worry about that Bella. No, he won't be mad."

I nod. "Ok, so where are these contacts?"

"They're around." He gives me a pointed look and twirls a cell phone around in his hand I didn't know he had. I understand what his stare means, he's not going to tell me. "Let's get out of this shitty motel." He grabs the bag and puts on his hoodie, throwing mine to me from the back of the chair where I'd left it. I pull it on and start to laugh when I catch a glimpse of us in the mirror.

Viewing our twin appearances makes me feel content, like we're joined. "Edward, we match." He looks and sees both of us in our black Doors shirts, jeans, and hoodies.

He smirks back at me in the mirror. "A fucking match made in hell, Swan."

* * *

We drive for two hours, going north instead of west like I'd assumed we would. Edward explains that we're not heading to Mexico in a straight line, that the people he needs to meet with are scattered throughout the lower states. Makes sense to me, and honestly, I could drive for months with Edward, never landing anywhere and be perfectly happy.

The small road Edward has us on is lush and green, the landscape dotted with fenced-in yards and horses grazing in fields. It's quiet out here, and the soundlessness begins to make me a little antsy. I keep thinking about the news report, about the fact that people seem to think I've been kidnapped. They haven't mentioned Edward by name yet, but the sheriff must've seen the knife. Regardless of how bad the cops are in Archer, his initials are on the goddamn thing. My father isn't a dumb man; I'm sure he remembers my asking about the incident where Mike was stabbed in the hand. It won't take long for him to find out that the pencil stabber was Edward, and I'm sure he recalls my reaction when Mike came by that one night. Why they assume I was kidnapped and not a willing participant I have no idea. I feel a twinge of guilt at the thought that quite possibly, my father is in fact worried about me.

I shake my head at my thoughts and remember that this is my life now, next to crazy Edward Masen, and where he goes, I now go.

I look at the dashboard and realize there's no crappy AM radio sitting in the console, but a pretty modern setup, the dealership must've retooled it. I spy a slot for a CD and it reminds me of what I possess. I reach back to grab the bag from the backseat, and pull the CD out that had been wedged inside the folds of my other pair of jeans.

Edward watches me as I open the case and insert the disk. He looks at me questioningly until the first notes of "Roadhouse Blues" come on, and his face lights up.

"Fuck yeah, Swan! Nice!" He slaps his left hand on the window frame where it had been resting, and to my utter heart fail, starts singing along. The mixture of Jim Morrison's smoky growl with Edward's snapping bite is so suggestive, so hot; my stomach twists in want from this harmony alone. He lights a cigarette and pounds his hands against the steering wheel in time with the drumbeat, and I laugh, regarding him and how happy he is. There's always an underlying sense of danger within him, but his excitement from the music mixed with that menace is something I find undoubtedly erotic.

He nudges me out of my lustful haze with his elbow when he sees I'm not singing, and on the next chorus, I join Edward in his screaming of the lyrics, my voice louder than it's ever been and the feel of the strain on my throat is euphoric.

We're yelling at the top of our voices as we drive fast past the pastures, _'letting it roll'_ with the Lizard King. Edward is slamming his hands on the dashboard and blowing smoke out of his nose while I bob my head and dance in my seat, letting my loose hair fly. I look at Edward during the instrumental section, moving his head in time to the music.

He turns again in my direction, his head dipped low as his scary eyes fall back on mine. I suck in a breath when he starts to sing again in a low, throaty fuck-me way. _"You gotta roll, roll, roll, you gotta thrill my soul, all riiiight."_

I just stare at him as he croons to me; the word 'right' seeping out of his mouth in a sexy drawl, slow like molasses. My eyes glaze over in want, and my breath escapes my lungs in quick pants. He continues singing, apparently oblivious to his affect on me as his eyes are now back on the road while mine never leaves his stubble-laced cheek.

The heavy music in the car pounds in my ears while the wind drives my hair across my face like a whip. I've never felt a surge of electricity flow through my body quite this way before, like he's the current, and lightening is about to explode from all my fingertips and toes. He takes a long drag on his cigarette and throws it out the window before turning back to me. My eyes don't leave his as I see in my periphery his hand move up towards me and slowly slink around my head, until he's grasping the back of my neck like a vice. I make a throaty sound as the feeling shoots fire straight through me; the desire flooding me is unprecedented.

His eyes are alive and threatening as he sings the next words to me. _"The future's uncertain and the end is always near." _The crazy in him that's never too far from the surface makes his lips turn up into a smile at that last phrase, and when his hand doesn't move from my neck, I raise my hand and place it over his, my fingers scratching and digging as tightly as his grasp is on me.

A sudden horn blaring makes Edward look back to the road just in time to see a pickup truck swerve as we've travelled over into the other lane a bit.

Laughing, Edward guides the car back to our own lane, but his hand never leaves my neck. Not that the deathly grip mine has on his would allow it.

* * *

We're in a Piggly Wiggly in Sylvester, Georgia buying Slim Jims and Mountain Dew when it happens again.

The large TV hanging up in the corner over the self-serve coffee station is tuned to an Atlanta Braves game when during the seventh inning stretch; they cut quickly to the local news.

My hand pauses in midair above the bin where I was choosing an apple for Edward when my name is broadcast loudly across the entire store. We both look up to see the same senior picture that will now haunt me till my death and listen as the newscaster recounts what we'd heard earlier. However, quickly following my picture is the same one of my mother that all the news outlets had replayed over and over years ago, as they've now made the connection of who I am.

I'm labeled as 'possibly abducted' in this report, and police are following leads connected with a body found in my home. No details on who the body belongs to or who might've committed the crime at this point, and I breathe a sigh of relief that Edward has not been mentioned.

Edward, on the other hand, doesn't seem as relieved and slowly pulls my hood up over my head from behind me, bringing it low enough to partly cover my face. "Get in the car," he says quietly, and when I follow his line of sight from the TV to the bored cashier, I see the teenager leaning against the counter, looking at the screen, as there are no customers to wait on. An older man with a tie and nametag stands nearby, watching the broadcast as he straightens the newspaper rack.

Edward takes the items I'd picked out from my hand, and I walk towards the exit with my head down, hoping to escape unnoticed by the cashier. Just as I'm about to near the exit, the bell over the door dings and a guy in a pair of overalls walks in, making the cashier and tie guy turn to say hello to their new customer. I continue walking and glance up quickly; catching the eye of the man that I assume is some sort of manager. He smiles at me and tells me to have a nice day before looking quizzically behind me, obviously knowing Edward and I came in together and probably wondering why I was leaving without him.

As soon as I'm outside, I take a deep breath and start walking rapidly towards where the car is parked on the other side of the lot.

"Excuse me, miss?" I hear come from behind me and goose bumps break out on my flesh. I keep walking, ignoring his call, until he repeats himself and I realize he's caught up to me. I speed up my steps and try to figure out what I'm going to do if I reach the car and he's still following me.

Suddenly, I feel his hand on my arm and I automatically turn, panicked. He narrows his eyes at me and looks me up and down. "Miss, are you ok?" he asks.

"I'm fine." I nod and lower my head, avoiding his searching gaze. "I'm waiting for my boyfriend."

"Are you that missing girl? Isabella Swan?" he asks while keeping his grip on my arm.

"No, please, just let go of me," I start to plead nervously, and look in the store windows to find Edward, but I don't see him.

"It's okay, we'll go around to the back entrance and call the police, you don't need to be afraid, I won't let him hurt you." He starts trying to guide me around the corner, but my feet won't move.

"I said it's not me!" I assert under my breath, not wanting to draw the attention of a couple that's walking to the entrance behind him. I hear the ding of the bell as they enter, and I start to walk backwards, trying to loosen the man's hold on me.

He's halfway through another sentence about helping me when his eyes suddenly widen in surprise. His hand releases its pressure but stays on my arm, and I watch confused as he starts sinking to the ground.

I look from his dropping body to a gloriously enraged Edward, his hand thrust out towards the man's back. Our eyes meet when the man lands on his knees, and his eyes don't stray from mine even as he tugs his hand back at himself, revealing a knife, coated red and bright, from between the man's shoulder blades.

Edward's concentration on me doesn't falter as he steps around the man and grabs me by the neck, guiding me in complete silence as our steps fall in line beside one another, as we hastily make our way towards the car.

Edward left it running when we parked, so we quickly jump in, and after throwing the bloody knife into the paper bag in the back seat, he slams the car in reverse while stepping heavily on the gas, making my body fly towards the dashboard. I brace myself against the metal frame of the windshield when Edward turns the wheel sharply, puts the car in drive, and peels quickly out of the lot and into the road.

He doesn't let up on the gas pedal, and we fly down the street with tires squealing as he crosses over into the other lane, passing a car and swerving back in front of it with a blare of a horn. We speed down the two way street for a few minutes still completely silent until Edward cuts the wheel sharply to the right and skids onto a grassy lane, leading us into a field filled high with reeds.

We bump and jolt over the earth until Edward slams on the brakes hard, making me slam back into my seat once the car has stilled.

His chest is heaving, the breath leaving his mouth firing rapidly. "His hands were on you," he says, before finishing. "Are you okay?"

"He…recognized me," I say, my own chest puffing out in breathy gasps. "I told him I wasn't the missing girl, he didn't believe me. He wanted me to go with him to call the police," I recount.

Edward looks at me, his eyes tense and slightly unfocused. His hand rises swiftly and lands itself on the back of my neck once more, squeezing tightly and pulling on the hair trapped underneath his grip. "No one is going to take you from me. No one."

I shake my head back and forth furiously. "No one." I agree.

I feel his hand jerk me suddenly, and my head spins when I feel Edward Masen's mouth on mine.

His mouth is hungry, ferocious in his kiss, and our teeth and lips mash together so hard it hurts. I kiss him back with everything in me, our mouths biting and clawing at each other as a second hand joins the one on my neck, holding me impossibly closer.

He shifts and leans over me, pushing me back against the car door, his body suspended over the divide in the seats. I feel his tongue push its way towards mine, and I welcome him, tasting and sucking, and I ignore the burn in my lungs begging for oxygen because I don't want to break away.

He bites my bottom lip so hard I yelp, and he soothes it with his tongue, licking and swiping over the tender spot. I moan at the sting, which makes him groan in return, his hot mouth swiftly engulfing mine once again.

I raise my hands to his hair and pull, and I feel his own shift up from my neck, copying mine and tugging. His mouth pulls away slightly, and his voice is angry. "I won't let anything happen to you, Bella. You're mine. You're fucking mine," he finishes with a growl and moves his mouth to the side of my neck, sucking on the skin and pulling it taut with his teeth.

"I'm yours," I gasp, feeling stars and fireworks as they shoot directly into my veins when his mouth continues to feast on my neck.

His body shifts and I feel him pulling back, until I can see his eyes piercing mine. Our breaths are matched in their urgency, and his eyes look down at my throbbing lip. "You're bleeding," he says, before swiping at the tender spot with his tongue.

"For you," I hum at the feeling of his soothing gesture and close my eyes. He moves slightly, and I feel his tongue lap at my neck where I'm sure he's left his mark.

"Sangre," he says, his voice obstructed by my breathing and muffled by its closeness to my skin.

"What?" I question, dazed by his passion, unfamiliar with the word.

He pulls back so that we're a few inches apart, and my eyes open when I feel him grab my hand from his hair and move it down towards his neck. He pushes my fingers over the tattoo that lives there, repeating the word. "Sangre."

"What does it mean?" I ask, my eyes watching my fingers as they trail over the angry black lettering.

He dips his head to catch my eye once again and covers my fingers with his, both of us tracing the outline. "It's a connection. It's our connection now."

"Connection?" I ask, my chest rising and falling under his penetrating stare.

"Sangre is blood. _You_ are my blood. You run through me." Edward squeezes his other hand that's still tight in my hair. "You fucking _flow_ through me."

My pounding heart slams against my chest and swims blood into my ears. I grasp his neck hard, right over the tattoo and match his intensity as I declare against his mouth. "Sangre."

* * *

Seeing his dead wife appear on screen over and over again causes Charlie Swan utter heartache. He worries for his daughter, who he doesn't think he's done right by, and hopes that wherever she is and whomever she's with, that she's safe.

The phone rings, startling him from his musings, and he listens as Sherriff Tate reveals the identity of the fingerprints found on the knife. The lone set of prints belongs to one Edward Masen. Charlie questions why this Edward Masen's prints are on file in the first place, and is told that at the age of fifteen, he'd brutally stabbed the foster father of the home he was in.

Charlie holds his breath as he's told the nature of the event, learning that Edward was then taken to a mental health facility to avoid him being charged as an adult.

Sherriff Tate mentions that he also called to have him come to the station to identify his daughter on videotape that's been confiscated from a car dealership on the highway. At Charlie's impatient insistence, he describes the scene the camera caught. It shows a figure now believed to be Edward Masen, 19, the person of interest in the slaying of 17 year old Michael Newton, violently pushing a small brunette into a blue 1965 Mustang convertible while brandishing a knife. Sherriff Tate explains they are moving forward with naming him as wanted for the kidnapping of 17 year old Isabella Swan as well, based on the what appears to be a forcible act against her.

Charlie hangs up the phone and rubs his hand over his weary face. He replays the last twenty-four hours over and over, looking for something he's missing. There seems to have been no sign of a struggle, the only thing besides the dead kid on the floor that suggested any violence was the fishing wire they found, snapped but hanging loosely from the inside screen door handle. To Charlie, that fishing line represents his failure in protecting his daughter from whatever happened the night before.

He steps in front of her room and looks in like he has a few times that day, but this time he enters. He looks around the small space looking for something, _anything_, to tell him what might have happened.

He eyes the dresser, and his brow furrows in thought as he moves closer and slides the top drawer open. Her mother's old make up bag is gone, the one where she stashed the money she didn't think he knew about. Once in a while, when he thought of it and hadn't spent it on beer money down at Lou's, he would put a ten dollar bill in there, sometimes a five if that's all he had. His co-workers wouldn't have known it was missing.

Charlie rubs his mustache, deep in thought. If she'd been forcefully taken, he found it highly unlikely she'd have grabbed her money.

* * *

**The TwiFicMeetUp date and location has been announced!**  
**Nashville, July 11-13**  
**Find the info at www dot twificmeetup dot com or on their FB page, TwiFic Meetup**

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Summer of Salt by lola-pops**

The heat wave lingers. Sweet, savory and slick. Jasper, Rose and I wade through the humid days, content in our relative isolation. We spend June through August at our family lake property, and this summer is like any other. Until it's not.

* * *

_**As always, thank you to Carrie ZM and LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Remember, reviews make me happy!**_


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

_**I'm a spy in the house of love  
**__**I know the dream, that you're dreamin' of  
**__**I know the word that you long to hear  
**__**I know your deepest, secret fear  
**__**I know everything  
**__**Everything you do  
**__**Everywhere you go  
**__**Everyone you know**_

**- "The Spy", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

I'm sitting on the convertible top in the back seat, watching Edward as he switches out the plate again. He had suggested earlier that we ditch the car altogether, but I asked if we couldn't please just hold onto it a bit longer. I'm reluctant to let go of the place where we had our first kiss.

Just thinking about the way he possessed my mouth, my neck, all of me, makes me squeeze my thighs together. Passion is something I never experienced with Mike, in fact, most of the time I wanted to vomit. Yes, I'd let him kiss me, but a quick peck before he shoved it in was not something I considered remotely close to what Edward and I had shared.

I wish I was able to give him my first everything, but the kiss would have to do.

"Hand me the new one," he says, breaking me from my thoughts and I reach into the back seat to pull the Georgia plate off the leather, handing it to him over the trunk.

We are now laying low in Macon, about an hour and a half from the Piggly Wiggly and the scene of our latest violent crime. I chew on my Slim Jim, smiling around the beef stick as I think about how Edward stuffed everything I wanted into his hoodie before he came to my rescue.

I look around the empty school parking lot amazed it's still Saturday as I feel like I'm a hundred years away from my life in Archer. I watch the swings as they move subtly from a wind I can't really feel and try to recall if I've ever been happier than I am right now.

"Sharpie," Edward calls out, and I hand it to him, moving to lie on my stomach across the trunk to watch his handiwork. He sticks his tongue out again as he concentrates on painting new numbers on the plate, and all I can think about is the next time I might be able to taste it. Surely, we'll have to find somewhere soon to spend the night. Goosebumps travel over my skin at the thought of the many endless nights with Edward that lay before me.

He looks up and grins at me, pleased with his work and I stick the Slim Jim out for him to bite. His teeth rip off a piece and he chews before quickly standing. I roll over onto my back and look at him from upside down.

The blue sky is dotted with puffy clouds behind him, and his angle from my position makes him seem larger than life itself. A goliath watching over me, protecting and making sure no one will steal me away. No, I confirm, I've never been happier than I am when I'm with him.

He leans down and opens his mouth, indicating he wants more, so I lift the stick to him and he bites sharply, snapping off another piece. He braces his arms on either side of my head on the trunk and leans down towards me after he swallows, his lips barely touching mine as he says "Sangre", before covering my mouth with his in a backwards kiss.

"Sangre," I mimic when he lets me go, and my heart swells with the meaning behind our shared word. "Edward?" I ask, after he stands back up.

"Yeah?"

"Tell me something. Anything, about your family…or Mexico?"

Edward looks at me upside down a moment before hoisting himself up on the car next to me, his thigh brushing my hair that's splayed out on the blue metal. He looks out towards nothing while lighting a cigarette, blowing the smoke out before answering. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything," I repeat. I'm so desperate to know him, regardless of the fact that I've given him my heart and life despite my lack of details of his time before me. "Tell me why you stabbed your foster father," I add quickly, in case he doesn't want to choose, and before he can shut me down prematurely.

He sighs and takes another drag, blowing the smoke through his nose as he rubs his other hand against his hair.

"He didn't die." He shakes his head and continues to smoke. "But I wish he had."

"What happened?" I ask and search his face while he gathers his thoughts.

He waits so long to answer, I'm not sure he's going to. But finally he shifts on the trunk and speaks. "I was living in Texas with my fourth foster family. A couple of fucking drunks." He stops, seemingly lost in memory.

"How old were you?" I prod gently.

"Fifteen. There were four of us in that house, two boys older than me and a girl, Katie. She was my age. She was pretty, and boys from school had started to come around the house, you know, to do what fifteen year old boys want to do." He kind of smirks, and I immediately wonder if he was one of those boys as well, my stomach knotting at the mention of another girl in his life that he might've felt something for.

"Anyway, I guess that prick decided that he liked what he saw too. I noticed he'd started treating her well, better than the rest of us, fuck knows, so I started to watch him. He'd come home drunk, and I'd make her go into the only bathroom with the lock and I'd sit out there all night until he passed out. One night, I came home late; I was out smoking pot with a kid from school. When I found them, he was…on her, so I stabbed the son of a bitch." He ends the story quickly with a shrug of his shoulders, and I imagine he's said all he's going to say.

What he said in my trailer flits through my mind, about not getting to me on time.

"Edward, what did you mean when you said you were sorry for not getting to my trailer earlier last night?" He doesn't say anything, and I ask again. "What were you coming over for?" Thoughts of Mike Fucking Newton mucking up what might've been Edward coming to see me makes me upset, and I hate him all over again.

He gets up quickly and flicks his cigarette far out into the parking lot. "Fuck, Bella."

"What?" I ask, rolling back over onto my stomach, my eyes following him as he paces back and forth in front of me.

"I wasn't coming over to hang out." He finally stops and fishes out another cigarette, lighting it quickly and inhaling with his head thrown back.

"Oh." My heart drops, and I can't figure out any reason why he would've been in my trailer park.

Hearing my disappointed tone, he turns to me as he flicks his ash nervously on the ground. "I've been coming to your trailer every night since I stabbed him in the goddamn hand. I was making sure he didn't come to hurt you. Last night, I failed."

The correlation between Katie and me is obvious, and I open my mouth to speak but he stops me. "I fucking failed you." His black-smeared eyes meet mine, and they're tinged with regret.

My head is alive with thoughts of Edward just mere feet from me every night, with me having no idea he'd been out there. I scramble up onto my knees, grabbing at his hoodie as his head drops, avoiding my gaze. "That's bullshit, Edward. You did not fail me. Do you have any idea what it means to me that you were out there every night?" My heart sings like the teenager in love that I am, even though I feel fucking forty.

"If I'd just gotten there on time…fucking douchebag of an uncle," he curses, shaking his head, and I pull on his sweatshirt again until he looks at me.

"You did get there on time, Edward. You did. You got there just in time to get me the fuck out of my miserable life. Out of Florida for good. If you'd stopped Mike from ever entering my trailer, we wouldn't be here," I say, believing every word. "And I can't imagine anything better than this. It's us."

The crickets start chirping in the bushes as we fall silent, and I notice the sky has darkened around us, but I still cling to his hoodie and wait for him to get out of his own guilty head. "She was like a sister to me. We'd moved through the system together. The only family I really felt I had," he finally says, quietly. "They took us both away after that, and I have no idea where she ended up." He reaches out and grabs my neck with his hands, engulfing my throat and squeezing gently. "I refuse to lose you now that I've got you."

"You won't."

"Sangre," he says hotly.

"Sangre," I agree.

* * *

Macon is a rather large city, but I know we can't risk going into the heart of it, to a nice chain hotel, so I keep my eyes peeled for something like Edward described, small and off the road.

Night has fallen and I spot a motel with a flashing vacancy sign next to a Waffle House, so Edward pulls in, secures us another room situated around back, and we quickly make our way inside.

My eyes widen at the sight of a king sized bed standing in the middle of the room, instead of two doubles like we'd had the night before. Sensing my surprise, Edward quickly tells me it's all they had and assures me he'll sleep in the chair again. My heart sinks just a little. Old insecurities rise and regardless of the affection we'd displayed just hours ago, I feel dejected.

We take turns in the bathroom using toiletries Edward bought that morning with the backpack, but failed to give me when I showered, and I chuckle when I see the eyeliner tucked in next to the more necessary items.

Awkwardly, I make my way out of the bathroom to find Edward sitting in the chair the room provides instead of sitting on the bed, flipping through channels.

I know instantly what he's looking for so I sit and listen with him as he finds the major Georgia networks.

After settling on one broadcast that's in the middle of a weather report, it finally comes.

"Police are searching for a suspect in the stabbing of a Piggly Wiggly store manager in Sylvester earlier today. Video surveillance cameras captured two individuals, their faces obscured by hoods, outside with the victim prior to the attack." They play the video and my hand clamps over my mouth as I gasp at seeing the footage. "The victim, Roger Barnett, appears in the lower right hand of the screen talking to a female while a male comes behind the pair, stabbing Mr. Barnett and then grabbing the girl's neck, fleeing the scene. Cameras did not capture the vehicle but witnesses claim to have seen a blue convertible quickly exiting the parking lot. Mr. Barnett is listed in stable condition."

They go on asking for anyone with information to call the police. There is no connection to my disappearance, which means the cashier didn't recognize me. The video is grainy, but you can plainly see Edward lunging for the man's back.

"We need to get rid of that car," he says.

I nod in agreement, sad to see the car go.

"I'm going to go to the Waffle House and get us some dinner, you'll be okay? Don't leave this fucking room," he warns.

"I'm fine, I won't go anywhere." I watch him go and bolt and chain the door after him at his command.

Sighing, I sit on the edge of the bed and absently look at the TV, musing at the irony that Wheel of Fortune is on. I lie back on the gold bedspread and listen to Pat Sajak and Vanna White, my eyes feeling heavy and falling closed.

The sound of knocking wakes me, and at first I just sit dumbly, looking at the door. I glance at the clock and see that Edward has been gone for nearly two hours. The hairs on my arms stand on end, and I slowly go to the peephole and see the dark form of someone in a hood. Relief washes through me, but I ask, "Who is it?" following the instructions he gave me before he left.

"Your worst fucking nightmare," he answers, and I slide the chain off and undo the deadbolt, opening the door to let him in. The smell of chicken hits my nose and my stomach flips. "It's not gourmet or anything, but it's hot," he says, holding up the two bags.

We sit at the table and devour our food, the first real meal I've had since the night before. "You were gone a while," I say as I finish the last bite and point to the clock.

He looks at me from over a piece of fried chicken poised at his mouth. "I got rid of the car."

"Oh." Even though I knew we had to, I didn't think he'd do it tonight. "Where?"

"There's a garage a block away, I took one with a 'repaired' ticket on it and stashed the other one in the back with a bunch of wrecks, changed out the plates. We'll have to get out of here first thing before they open."

I nod and gather the garbage, throwing it in the wastebasket next to the table. "Are we going to see one of your contacts tomorrow?" I ask.

"_I_ am, yes," he says, giving me a sharp nod of his head before biting into his chicken.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Sit in the car."

"So you're not just going to leave me somewhere to wait for you?" I say, happy that it isn't his plan, which I assumed it would be.

He puts the chicken down on the paper, making it crinkle. "If you think I'm leaving you on some street corner out of my sight, you're fucking insane."

"Okay." I smile, and shift in my seat a little. "Works for me."

He barks out a laugh. "I'm glad." He finishes his chicken and we watch the news again, it's just a repeat of what we've already seen. I guess I'm glad the manager didn't die, as he didn't really deserve it like Mike did. Edward reminds me, however, that there's no way in hell the police don't already know that he recognized me.

"We'll have to be extra careful until we get out of Macon," I note, watching him pull out a cigarette and tapping it on the table.

"Swan, we have to be extra fucking careful until we get out of Georgia. You are not to go anywhere alone or talk to anybody, and never put your hood down, do you understand?" He puts the cigarette in his mouth and squints at me while he lifts the lighter up to the end.

"Where the fuck would I go, and who would I talk to?" I question back and he smiles at me, igniting the flame.

"Good girl." The snapping closure of his Zippo ends that conversation as he sucks smoke into his lungs and exhales noisily over the table between us.

* * *

The warehouse building in front of us looks standard; cement, bricks, a few broken windows. Nothing that would scream, "drug dealers work here".

We drive up to a security gate where he gives a fake name, Anthony Cullen, and they question who I am. Edward flippantly answers, "my girlfriend", and it's all I can do not to bounce like a maniac in my seat. I know it's a girlie moment, but to have that label put on me once in my lifetime is sweet and I relish it.

Upon hearing the fake name, I question him on the origins as he pulls the car past the manned entrance.

"So you have a fake license? Anthony Cullen? Who's that?"

"Anthony is my middle name. Cullen," he pauses, "is just a name." Edward sticks his cigarette in his mouth and moves his hand to the wheel, so his other can wrap around my neck the way he seems to like. "You know what this money is going to mean, Swan?"

"Please tell me it means a better hotel than last night?" I shudder, thinking of the large cockroach I found dead in the tub.

"That too, but more importantly," he pulls the car to a stop and puts it in park, just inside the gate, "it means Mexico. We need to get you a fake passport."

"Will I need a license too?" I ask, hoping that he'll make me a Cullen as well. "I've never had one."

Edward turns to stare at me. "You don't have a license?" I shake my head in response and he narrows his eyes. "Why the fuck not?"

I look at him and he looks back at me like I have two heads. "I don't know how to drive. I never needed to. And my father sure wasn't thinking of milestones to hit," I snort, fleetingly feeling derision and a twinge of sadness about my father at the same time.

"I'll teach you, baby. I'll teach you everythaang," he says suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows, and my heart skips.

He gets out and I follow orders to sit in our newly obtained car. It's an old maroon Buick, and I frown at the peeling dashboard, remembering my beautiful blue convertible while I fiddle with the radio. There's no CD player in here, but at least Edward remembered to pull our Doors CD out of the car before ditching it, and he promised me he'd get me another convertible with a CD player soon.

I look out the dirty window and eye the entrance Edward disappeared into and daydream about Edward's kisses on my lips, raising my fingers up to brush against the pink skin where I swear I can still feel his mouth pressed against them. I'm hoping maybe he'll feel the need to kiss me again soon.

A sound from inside breaks me from my thoughts, and I chew the string of my hoodie nervously waiting for him to return. I start bobbing my leg up and down, worrying about stray gunfire due to a deal gone wrong or cops surrounding the place with DEA vests and automatic weapons.

The bag of meth he had pulled from the backpack was large, and we have three more stuffed in the bottom. When I asked him how much it was worth, he'd said he didn't really know, as he never sold in amounts that large before, but would be going off of what he'd heard his Uncle Peter say. A pound of meth should go for about eight grand. More, once we get to Texas and Alabama. I find it interesting that drugs cost different amounts of money in different states. I guess I just never really had a need to think about it.

After what feels like forever, I see Edward hurrying towards me with his hood up and his penetrating eyes staring right at mine. A small smile plays at his lips, and as soon as he's in the car he drives out of the gates, the rolling fence with barbed wire strewn through the top makes a screeching sound as the metal wheels guide it closed behind us.

"So?" I ask, not seeing a bag or a briefcase or whatever you put drug money in. Edward reaches into his hoodie and brings out a fat brown envelope.

"Ten thousand, baby." His smile is infectious, and when he hands it to me I open my mouth in wonder as I feel its heft.

Edward lights a much-deserved cigarette, rolling down the window with the old crank. "They asked me why the drop-off was early. We'll be long gone before they realize this didn't come from Peter." He shrugs and looks like a proud little boy. His good mood is contagious and I laugh, peeking into the envelope and seeing all the green.

"So, how long until your uncle finds out?" I ask, thumbing the money like a deck of cards, causing the bills to slap against each other.

"He won't."

I smell the money, dazed by seeing so much in one place. "He has to," I argue.

"He won't cause he can't. He's dead."

I almost drop the envelope and look at him with my mouth open. "What do you mean, he's dead?" My brain starts working, coming to only one conclusion.

"I killed him," Edward confirms, and with a smirk, he gives my neck a squeeze.

* * *

When the phone rings next to Charlie snoozing on the sofa, he jumps immediately, hoping to hear his daughter's voice.

Charlie listens to the sheriff relate his latest information, and his face goes pale. After hanging up, he sits heavily back on the couch and wishes he hadn't decided to stop drinking.

A man in Sylvester, Georgia at a Piggly Wiggly had identified Isabella, where she was apparently shopping with a male. The sheriff believes that the male is Edward Masen, their prime suspect in the killing of Mike Newton and the abduction of his daughter.

The footage shows Isabella outside with the man, his hand on her arm, struggling slightly to shake him off. The man told police he was trying to help her after seeing her on the news, but that she seemed scared to accept his help.

It seems Edward Masen had then stabbed the man trying to help his daughter. The sheriff went on to say he had worse news, that upon arrival at Edward Masen's home, there was no answer, so they circled to the back of the house and found two bodies in the kitchen, those believed to be Edward Masen's aunt and uncle, both slain sometime Friday night.

Charlie swallows and drops the silent phone onto the floor, remembering the car lot video he had watched. Edward Masen was most certainly a danger to his little girl, but he couldn't get rid of the feeling that something felt…off. Even with the low quality of the video, Charlie most definitely noticed Isabella had a spring in her step that had been absent for years.

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Beyond Time by TKegl**

After the Cullens leave Forks, a twist of fate lands Bella in Chicago in 1918. She thinks it's a second chance to build a life with Edward, but when she finds him, he's not quite what she expected. Can Bella create the future she's hoping for?

* * *

_**As always, thank you to Carrie ZM and LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Remember, reviews make me happy!**_


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

_**And we're on our way  
**__**No we can't turn back, babe  
**__**Yeah we're on our way  
**__**And we can't turn back  
**_'_**Cause it's too late  
**__**Too late, too late  
**__**Too late, too late**_

**- "I Looked At You", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

"_I killed him."_

Edward turns the wheel as we set off towards the road, seemingly indifferent at the information he's just given me.

"You WHAT him?" Dropping the envelope into my lap, I cover my mouth with my hand and stare at him wide-eyed.

"I. Killed. Him. His bitch of a wife too," he says nonchalantly.

I envision the body count we're wracking up behind us like a football scoreboard. Bella Swan: 1, Edward Masen: 2. "What happened…why?"

He looks at me through a haze of exhaled smoke he blows towards the windshield and shrugs. "They got in our way."

"Got in our way?" I take the envelope from my lap and put it into the glove compartment, stuffing it next to some maps and an old first aid kit.

Edward lets out a long sigh, "He's been threatening to expose where my parents are. We had a huge fight about it before...I got to you."

I shake my head, confused. "Your parents, what do you mean?"

"It's a long story, Swan," he says, a bit of annoyance in his voice.

"Well, we've got time. Tell me." I turn in my seat and fold my arms, staring him down. The plan is to get rid of one more pound of meth tomorrow before heading to Alabama. Confining ourselves to smaller roads is timely, but Edward feels it's safer, so we have a few hours until we get to our next destination.

Edward shoots me an irritated look, but I just raise my eyebrows at him, waiting. "On paper, my parents are dead. My Uncle Peter is one of two people that know where they are. I'm the other one. He's been threatening to expose their location to certain people for a long time now, so he can use it as leverage to keep his own ass out of trouble if he needs to."

I wait for him to continue, and when it's clear he's not, I prod him gently. "Edward, tell me all of it." He throws his cigarette out of the window with a huff, obviously not wanting to discuss this, but I won't let him shut down now. I put my hand on his neck and rub my fingers along the back of his hair. "Tell me. It's us."

His shoulders ease their staunch position as my nails scratch against his scalp. I continue stroking him while we drive through the industrial part of the city and pass over into a nicer area. Big houses with gardens and live oaks covered in Spanish moss line the driveways spread before us as Edward resumes talking.

"My parents were drug runners. They were dirty fucking criminals," he laughs at this with that weird, crazy grunt. "Besides a multitude of some petty and not so petty crimes, they got into some bad shit at the end. They stole from the dealer they were transporting for and he was NOT happy. They had wanted to get out of the country, start over, and were stockpiling money before they ran. They decided to steal from him, a really large payoff." I furrow my brow at him, wondering how he'd know all this if he were just a kid. My question must be obvious because he answers without me having to voice it. "They kept nothing from me. And I sometimes helped them. A ten year old can come in handy when you don't suspect you'd get played by a kid."

I nod, telling him I understand even though I'm a bit horrified, and he begins again. "When they never returned with the money, he sent some guys to our rental in the middle of the night, and they torched the place. My folks got us out but not two of their friends who were squatting with us. I don't even remember their names. We went into hiding for a day or two…that part, I don't really remember, it's fuzzy." He trails off, lost in thought for a moment before continuing. "When my parents found out that the police couldn't identify the bodies because they were so badly burned, they decided it was prime time to get the fuck out and let the guy who'd ordered the hit come to the conclusion that it was them."

Edward looks at me to see if I'm still following, and I reassure him with a squeeze to his neck. "They hatched a plan and spoke to my uncle who agreed to come get me, thinking I'd be better off with him until things died down and then he'd be able to help return me to them. They wanted me to have a better life, a safe life for a while. Then they'd get me back. They really believed that." He shakes his head.

Edward's mind wanders, and I watch as his lips twitch and his eyes lose focus. I wait for him to catch up to himself as he lights a cigarette and smokes half of it before he shrugs. "Problem was, my uncle never came. I didn't know him, so I couldn't give his name to anyone. He didn't want to come forward because of some heat that had come down on him at that time, so he let me rot in foster homes in Texas until I turned seventeen." His voice takes on a mocking quality. "That's when he realized he could use me. He tracked me down and became the 'oh so loving uncle that was happy to finally have me safely returned home where I belonged'."

Edward snorts loudly, "The fucker finally decided to call me family which was all bullshit. He made me into a fucking hump for him. He threatened to tell the dealer in Texas where my folks were if I didn't comply," he sneers that last part, the bile in his voice acidic. "That guy and my uncle were apparently business partners."

Edward falls silent again, his expressions are a calliope of emotion; sadness, anger, vehemence. They all shadow his face in rolling waves.

"How did he know their location?" I ask gently as I scoot on the bench seat closer to him, my fingers trailing from his neck to stroke his cheek as he leans into my hand.

He shakes his head against my palm. "My uncle knows everyone and everything. He's got eyes everywhere. That's why he had to go."

"And your aunt?" I ask, unsure she deserved Edward's wrath.

"She was next to him when I gutted him in the kitchen." Edward makes a stabbing motion towards his own stomach. "Bitch saw. And she's just as dirty as he is. I'm sure she knew too," he mutters under his breath, lost in his head somewhere.

I try to get Edward to come back to me from the darkness he's fallen into, as I'm sure recalling the story is painful and most likely one he's never shared. I try to turn his face gently towards me, coaxing him to make eye contact. "How do _you_ know where your parents are?"

Edward blinks, his eyes looking straight ahead at the road. "They told me. They told me to come to them when I could. It's all been planned since the night they left me in front of a hospital."

"Edward, why wouldn't they have tried to get you or contact you when you never showed up?" I ask gently, continuing to stroke his face to get him to look at me.

"Because…because…I'm sure that douchebag told them I didn't want them…or…told them I was happier and living a good life without them. They want what's best for me." Edward nods his head sharply, cementing his words in his own mind.

"Okay, okay." I kiss his cheek, hoping to settle him down.

He turns to me finally, the first time since he'd started his tale. "They thought they were doing the right thing. They were trying to get out. They just don't know what a fucking shit heel my mom's brother is." He turns to the open window and spits out, getting the taste of his memories off his tongue.

I run my hand over his stubble and cuddle up closer to him. "Was," I whisper and kiss him just under his ear. "What a shit heel he _was_." I pull back and smile at him, happy to see the expression on his face.

He looks amused, and his eyes regain some of their brightness. His hands start turning the wheel to the right, and he pulls the car over quickly onto the shoulder of the road we're on, under a weeping willow tree with pink blooms hanging from its branches. The car is thrust into shadow, and he pulls my face to his roughly as soon as he rolls to a stop. He kisses me hard, his mouth hot and powerful on mine, sucking all the breath out of me from the sheer force of it. His hands hold my head tightly, keeping it captive as his tongue invades my mouth, tasting and teasing me before releasing my face, leaving me speechless as he pulls the car back out on the road. "They're gonna fucking love you."

* * *

Edward and I have been holed up at a Days Inn in Manchester, Georgia for two days. He hasn't been able to contact his second guy on what he called his burner phone, and in the meantime, we've learned the police have made the connection between the stabbing at the Piggly Wiggly and me.

We've been watching the news ever since. The video of us stealing the convertible has been released, and they're interpreting the action on screen as Edward forcibly holding a knife to me and shoving me in the car. I remember how playful we had been, and I'm astounded at how it just doesn't look that way in the footage, fueling the idea that I'd been abducted.

They've also now identified the murder victim in my trailer, and the alleged suspect of both my kidnapping and the slaying. One Edward Masen, owner of the only set of prints found on the murder weapon and the handprint in the pool of blood on the floor. After listening to the report, I question Edward about why there were only his prints on the knife, and he explains he wiped it clean of any trace of me and left his own. I replay seeing him kneeling near Mike's body and recall the blood on his fingers. Apparently, he had purposely braced himself against the floor when he stood after wiping the handle with his t-shirt.

He's adamant that it was the only way to ensure my absolute innocence if anything happened to separate us. I punch him again for that, which he just brushes off while laughing at me.

The black and white video from the Piggly Wiggly and the car lot play on repeat a few more times over the course of the night, intermittent with mentions of my mother, and the crime she committed three years ago. You can't really see Edward's face in the videos, and the news has been unable to unearth a photo of him. Edward laughs at the screen and wishes them luck, as apparently, he hasn't had a picture of him taken since he was a boy. So far, no one has paid much attention to him, but every time he risks going out to get food or something else we need I worry regardless.

My clothes are starting to annoy me, wearing the same two pairs of jeans and interchanging the three shirts I have. I've spent the afternoon washing socks and underwear in the bathroom sink, and everything is splayed out air-drying. Edward tells me he'll get us some new stuff as soon as we leave Georgia, which should be the next day once he gets rid of the second pound of meth.

I sit on one of the double beds he'd gone back to requesting, waiting for Edward to return with dinner. Last night was the first night he actually lay on a bed instead of sitting in a chair up against the door, and I only surmise he'd done that because we're not in a strip motel with the doors facing the parking lot but inside with actual hallways. It was short lived, as I found him this morning in a chair by the door, fast asleep.

I am utterly confused as to why he hasn't slept with me in one bed, nor made any other move towards me. That first, hot kiss after the Piggly Wiggly and the other three we've shared have been the only sexual contact between us and doubt is starting to etch the outside layers of my brain. It feels like he wants me when he's seducing my mouth with his tongue, and I consider telling him how desperate I am for him, but the Bella Swine inside of me can't find her voice.

* * *

Edward's phone rings early the next morning, waking me up and I find him pacing the room, running his hand through his damp hair and listening to whomever is on the other end. I assume it's his drug guy, and he confirms that as soon as he hangs up.

"We're out of here, Swan. Get your stuff together."

"Stuff. That's funny. I own six things." I rub my eyes and sit up, wishing for the sunlight that Edward won't allow through closed, hotel curtains.

"I'll take you shopping as soon as we cross the Alabama state line." He shoves his clothes in the bag while I gather my own. "I'll buy you whatever you want."

"Hmm, intriguing." I smile and hand him my measly pile. I notice he has his Doors shirt on again, so I pull mine off the stack and exchange it with the one I was going to change into. We really need to visit a Laundromat, but that will have to wait.

Once I finish in the bathroom, I give him the stuff I slept in and grab the eyeliner, leaning over the dresser to apply it. Before the pencil makes contact with my skin, Edward grabs it from my hand and holds it up above his head.

"Let me do it."

I look at him like he has three heads. "No way. You'll poke me in the eye." I reach for it, but my shortness is no match to his height. I try a jump/grab move, and fail miserably, making him laugh at me.

"You don't trust me, Swan? Here I am, protecting your ass and you think I'd jab a pencil in your eye. Nice." The corners of his lips turn down but he's still smirking, making his mouth sexy as hell.

I elbow him in the stomach trying to get him to release the eyeliner and it works for a minute, as his arm lowers and I grab his hand in mine. "Fuck, you fight dirty!" He takes the hand that's holding his and flings me around. "But I can fight dirtier." I shriek, my arm now behind my back. He walks me to the bed and turns me again, pushing me back onto it and straddling me immediately. His knees come up to pin my arms down.

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to gut you!" I laugh and move my head from side to side to avoid the pencil he has poised above my face.

"I'm disappointed in you, Swan. Truly hurt. I killed two people for you, stabbed another," he holds his thumb and pointer finger together closely, "and you won't even let me draw a little black line on your eye."

"Fine," I huff and turn my head so I'm looking right at him. "If I come out looking like Marilyn Monroe, you're dead."

"Nope. Marilyn Manson, all the way." I laugh as he releases my arms and comes closer to me with his tongue out again like he does when he's changing license plate numbers. "Close your eyes," he says softly, and I comply, feeling the drag of the pencil lightly across my top lid.

The stillness of us both and the lessening of our levity have made me notice the position we're in. I can feel his breath on my face; Edward's thighs are tight against my sides, and his crotch is almost directly above mine. I squirm minutely and feel Edward pause. I swallow and feel him resume his drawing. He moves the pencil under my lashes, and I feel him begin to underline my eye.

Edward's voice catches in his throat when he tells me he's moving to the other one, and I wonder if he's realized just how intimate this is. I take a chance and move my hips, satisfied when I hear him suck in a breath and pause the pencil once again. He doesn't move for a second, but then I feel it.

Edward barely brushes his groin against me, but there's no mistaking the hardness underneath his jeans. I open my eyes and look at him as he looks down at me; pencil still paused, waiting to finish. "Keep your eyes closed, Swan," he barely speaks, and I comply. Once they're closed, I feel him move his hips against me again, this time with a little more intent. I push back up against him and move my hands to his ribcage, sliding my hands up his sides. I feel the pencil shake on my eyelid, but he finishes the line and moves to complete the job underneath.

He pulls the pencil from my skin only for me to feel the point directly below the outside corner of my eye. He's drawing something on my face, and I stay still until he's finished.

"Done," he says and sits back slightly; the hardness in his jeans barely rubbing me but it's enough to make my insides flutter.

I open my eyes and see him hovering over me with both arms on either side of me, capturing me, and pressing into the mattress. "What did you draw?" I ask, and move my hands forward to slide up his chest.

I see him swallow at my movement. "A tear."

"I'm far from sad."

"Tear tattoos in prison represent how many people you've killed." His mouth is moving closer to mine and I just nod, waiting for his lips to find my own. He pauses a minute right before I feel his mouth, closed, but pressing firmly against me. I quickly open my mouth to let him in and he takes the invite, jutting his tongue out to land on mine and as soon as they touch, it's like we've flipped the 'on' switch. I move my hips forcefully as his tongue goes deeper into my mouth, both of us moaning at the way our lips move together. Edward is a passionate kisser, and I feel it through my entire body. His mouth is relentless on mine, sucking, closing, only to open up again and again to consume me and make me crazy.

I move my hands on his chest and feel a nipple ring through the fabric of his shirt and I gasp into his mouth, excited that I didn't know he had one and desperate to see it. He kisses me hard, his stubble rasping across my face deliciously while grinding into me with more need than before, so I move my hands down to his jeans. I barely brush his hard cock with the tips of my fingers before suddenly, his mouth is off mine and he's leaning back, his body losing all its contact points against mine.

I open my eyes to see him capping the eyeliner. "Um so, yeah, Marilyn Manson." He says, before crawling off the bed and moving back to the bag, throwing the eyeliner in. I'm left on the bed, feeling cold and needy at his quick departure.

"Did I…did I do something?" I ask the back that's turned towards me.

His voice sounds strained, but he tries to cover it. "Fuck no, Swan. It's just time to go." The zipper on the bag catches as he pulls it, and it's the loudest thing in the room next to my heartbeat. He lights a cigarette and I watch him tip his head back, the smoke trailing up to the celling as he exhales.

* * *

Another drug run. Another parking lot. Same shitty Buick.

Edward is in a much less protected environment this time around, a fact that worries me. I'm watching the white house with the peeling paint he disappeared into about ten minutes ago from a McDonald's parking lot that's within sight of the house. I consider getting out and getting myself a Happy Meal, but decide that Edward would be furious if I left the car.

The urban neighborhood is rife with clichés. There's a bum sitting on a crate just outside the chain link fence in front of me nodding off with a brown bag glued to his hand. Kids are playing in a dilapidated playground across the street with graffiti marring their play structures, and it makes me sad to think this is the way they're going to grow up; in a less than ideal neighborhood with crack houses framing their own. My trailer was pitiful, sure, but it sure as hell wasn't a danger zone. I laugh to myself thinking about Edward and I becoming a modern day Robin Hood and Maid Marian, passing out our drug money to needy families.

I chew on my hoodie string and eye Edward's pack of cigarettes. I take one out of the box and hold it between my fingers awkwardly, the smell of the rich tobacco hits my nose and it's surprisingly pleasant. Much more pleasant than when it's in smoke form. Not that I mind when Edward smokes; because everything he does, I love.

I fiddle with the lighter and flick it open, bring the cigarette to my mouth and light the end. Sucking in air, I immediately begin to cough. Huge, wracking sounds that make my nose and eyes run. I throw the cigarette out the window and pound on my own chest.

In my struggle to clear my lungs, I hear Edward's door open and feel him slump in next to me. "How'd it go?" I ask between coughs.

I get no answer, instead, I'm thrown against the dashboard and side door as Edward puts the car in reverse and then takes off out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell. "Jesus, Edward, you're gonna kill us." I really must begin to wear a seatbelt if he's going to continue with these great escapes.

I brace myself against the door and settle myself back into my seat. Edward starts laughing like a madman so I look over only to see his sleeves pushed up as he sometimes does, but his hands and arms are smeared in blood. "Edward, what the fuck?" I ask, moving closer to him to see if he's hurt.

"Holy shit, Swan! Holy fuck!" He starts banging his fist on the steering wheel maniacally.

"What…" I ask alarmed, searching to see if there's blood coming out of him somewhere. "Is this your blood?"

"No! It's that motherfucker's. Tried to fucking double cross me. Try again, douchebag!" he yells out the window.

"So you're not hurt?" I demand, trying to get him to focus.

"What? No! This isn't mine." He waves his hand over himself. "Fucker tried to tell me that he pays six grand for a pound. Pulled a knife on me."

"Oh my god!" My hands cover my face in worry, and I look at his arms again, even though he told me he wasn't hurt.

"Bitch thought he could play me. I threw the bag at him and he went to catch it like an idiot. I grabbed his knife and slashed that motherfucker right across the stomach. Simplest play in the book." Edward's face is beaming; his crazy eyes are darting all over the road. He shifts in his seat, reaching into his hoodie and pulling out a bloody knife. "Got you a present," he laughs as he places it in my hand and I hold it with two fingers by the part not covered in blood.

"Gee, thanks." I drop it on the floor and stare at it, using my feet to kick the blade farther up the rubber mat.

"So, no money, and we lost the meth?" I ask.

"Fuck, Bella, what do you think I am?" He reaches into his hoodie again and slides out a fat envelope, much like the one from the other day. I muse that perhaps, drug dealers get a bulk discount. Before I can ask how much, he reaches back into his hoodie and pulls out the bag of meth. "Fucker got nothing, I got everything." He throws it in my lap and tells me to put it away.

I scramble to reach the bag in back, and ask if there was anyone else there, any witnesses that might be chasing us right now.

"Nope, dipshit was alone. Figured he could deal with Peter Masen's teenage nephew by himself. Fucker."

"So how much is this, the six grand?" I turn back in my seat and open the envelope.

"Yup."

"And we kept the meth to sell again," I say, excited at the prospect of potentially making more money to get us to Mexico.

"Yup." The pull of Edward's fingers on my neck surprises me, and the force of his kiss surprises me even more after what happened this morning. I keep my eyes open as he assaults my mouth, his tongue pushing against my lips to gain access. He watches the road and closes his eyes intermittently, until his kiss slows and he pulls back, refocusing on driving.

I sit with my head foggy for a bit at his vacillating ardor towards me until I move and put the envelope into the glove compartment, shutting the door. I clear my throat. "So, is he dead?"

"As a fucking doornail." Edward reaches for his cigarettes, which aren't where they usually are when driving. I look around, spotting them and pass the pack and lighter to him sheepishly, as they'd fallen between my seat and the door. His eyebrow quirks in my direction as he takes them from me.

"I tried one." I shrug.

He sticks one in his mouth and smiles that sexy grin around it, making it bob between his lips as he speaks. "Don't you know these things will fucking kill you, Swan?"

* * *

Charlie Swan isn't allowed at the Masen crime scene, so he waits patiently at the station for the special homicide team from Gainesville that had been brought in to return with any new information.

In the meantime, he's mulling over Sherriff Tate's suggestion that it's time they took to the airwaves. A plea from a father in distress could ultimately help his daughter, making her abductor see her as human and not just a bargaining chip or hostage.

Charlie wants nothing more than to beg for his daughter's safe return, but the shared pictures and scribbled notes in Bella's notebook the deputies missed tell him Edward Masen quite possibly already sees his daughter as something much more than collateral.

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**An Undefined Affair by jayhawkbb**

Bella, recovering from a broken heart, meets Edward, who isolates himself emotionally. Their attraction is immediate, but can they be friends and lovers - without the love? BxE, all the regs, some drama, some funny, lemony, language AH

* * *

_**As always, thank you to Carrie ZM and LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Remember, reviews make me happy!**_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

_**Yeah, keep your eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel  
**__**Keep your eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel  
**__**Yeah we're goin' to the Roadhouse  
**__**We're gonna have a real  
**__**Good time**_

**- "Roadhouse Blues", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

We wipe down and ditch the nasty Buick right before we leave Georgia.

This time, Edward makes the switch at a campsite named Blanton Creek Park, near Lake Harding in Hamilton. I learn all this from the maps I lifted along with the first aid kit from the Buick.

Despite the amount of cars parked by the trails, there's not a soul around so Edward gives me a little lesson on how to hotwire a car. I choose a tan Chrysler Sebring, because it's a convertible and has a CD player. He slashes the roof again with his knife to open the door, and we both huddle on the front seat to mess around under the steering column. In about double the amount of time it took Edward, I make the wire connections and the car roars to life. I squeal in excitement at my newly learned skill, and we switch places, quickly driving out of the campsite and down the road a ways before stopping to put the top down. We cross over into Alabama, and I say goodbye to Georgia with a kiss blown towards the sign.

We drive on a road that lies parallel to a river for an hour or so, and periodically my hand rises and plummets as it makes waves in the rushing air. The brilliance of the sun reflecting on the water next to us makes me squint, and I think about one of the only trips my parents took me on, to the beach in Daytona. I remember watching the sun hitting the ocean, making it look like millions of tiny diamonds were sparkling just for me.

Thinking about a happy time with my father makes me want to call him, to reassure him, but I know there's no way I can. Someday, I'll get a message to him, explaining everything that's gone on, but not now. We need to concentrate on getting to Mexico.

Edward reminds me of his promise to take me for some clothes and other essentials, and we find a Wal-Mart in a town called Opelika. It's a small but busy place, with some fast food restaurants and a kitschy shopping area with an old fashioned general store, a luncheonette and a barber with a real red and blue barber pole spinning outside. I imagine the kind of happy lives the residents have here and wonder if we'll ever have that, waving at neighbors as you hold an ice cream cone or saying howdy to the old men playing chess outside the Five and Dime. I shake my head slightly, trying to imagine what it's going to be like living in a foreign country. Surely it won't be close to this, but being with Edward is all I care about, and if he wants to live in Mexico, so do I.

Edward is overly cautious when we pull in to the parking lot and insists on sitting in the car for a while to listen to the local news radio to see if we're being talked about. We're hopeful that our reputation has failed to reach Alabama. After not hearing our names or crimes mentioned, he deems it safe enough and we head into the big department store. He tells me we have plenty of money and encourages me to get what I want.

I pick out some odds and ends, happy to stop using hotel shampoo and eager to give my hair a good brushing with something other than my fingers. I head over to the clothing section to pick out some jeans and t-shirts and decide I should stock up on some new underwear and socks as well. I start pushing the cart towards that section but pause near a rack holding a row of black, short mini dresses that remind me of an outfit my mother used to own. It has cutouts in the sleeves to show off a bit of shoulder, the top is blousy, and connects to a tight skirt. I finger the fabric and try to picture myself ever wearing something so pretty.

"You should get it." I hear next to my ear and I turn to see Edward dropping some stuff into the cart. I'm amused when I see mostly black t-shirts, much like the ones I picked out.

"What the fuck do I need a dress for?" I question, shaking my head at such an idea.

"Don't get it 'cause you need it, get it 'cause you want it. Anything, Bella, it's yours." I feel Edward's lips on my neck as he pulls my hair to the side and I finger the sleeve, toying with the idea. "Just do it," he growls and leaves a playful bite, sending my heart racing before he moves his lips away. I yearn to kiss him, to make a move, but I settle on looking for my size and drop the dress into the cart. I guess I can always wear it to sleep in. "Are we done?" Edward asks.

"Um, no. I need…" I trail off and point towards the bra area, thinking I should get some more of those too.

Edward nods and follows me, which is completely embarrassing as I start searching through the lingerie. He leans on the cart with his chin in his hand, watching me take down a few and holding them out.

"Black. Definitely black," he says and I look to see him wiggling his eyebrows at me. I blush, and drop the items on top of the dress. I can't help but hope that this means he wants to see me in them. Before taking them off me.

I finger through a few more, and I startle when suddenly Edward's voice rings out, low and threatening behind me. "Move. The. Fuck. On." I look up to see a man lingering at the end of the aisle, obviously with his wife but eyeing what's in my hand. The man quickly pushes past his wife and disappears. I shake my head at Edward, but turn and smile so he can't see, secretly thrilled at his display of ownership.

We head to the check out and Edward reminds me to put my hood up and keep my head down as we near people at the registers. There's a group of teenage girls checking out in front of us talking about some dance coming up and who's taking whom. I have never felt like a teenager, especially now, and it hits me how different my life is going to be compared to these girls. What used to make me feel like an outcast now thrills me, and I daydream about a future with Edward. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice one of the girls nudging another and I watch as they stare at Edward. They're checking him out while he unloads our cart and I look at him with fresh eyes; I can see why these girls are so taken by him. To me, his violence and intensity just adds to his appeal, but if you were to just look at the surface, there's no denying he embodies everything that is beauty, sex, and lust. I can't help but feel a little baffled that he has chosen me, of all people.

They linger at the end of the counter while Edward pays and whisper to each other, obvious in their wanting. When we finish and start to move past them, I hear the words "I'd let him fuck me" come from the redhead. I feel my blood rise up, so I loop my arm through Edward's, his hands heavy with our bags.

I smile sweetly to them as we pass but snarl loud enough for them to hear, "Back off, cunts. He's mine." They just stare at me, too stunned to say anything. I pull on him to continue out the doors, but he stops and leans down to give me a searing kiss, one that is much too long and sexual for public viewing.

"Now _that_ was hot, Swan." Edward leers at me, and it's all I can do not to pull him back down for more. I wave my fingers at the girls and allow Edward to guide me out of the store.

* * *

Jim is singing "Light My Fire" as loud as the car will allow, and we sing with him, up and down country roads that twist and turn underneath large trees that only allow the sun to come through in spotty patches. Edward comes to a fork in the road and stills the car, looking at an old, wooden covered bridge that's seen better days. He turns and takes the bridge much too quickly, but we make it over safely and continue on, the only car on the quiet road. We pass by a large, overgrown field enclosed in a white wooden fence, the kind you might see surrounding horse stables, and Edward turns into its open gates.

He drives up a grass trail for a while until we can't see the road behind us anymore and stops the car when we hit a clearing. In front of us is a dilapidated red barn, its paint wearing off and showing the brown wood underneath. The whole structure is leaning on its side, as if one gust of wind could blow the whole thing down.

There's an old yellow house a few hundred feet from the barn, its windows boarded up with sheets of plywood, and a wraparound porch that's also close to collapsing.

It's strangely beautiful and serene against the blue, cloudless sky.

"How did you know this place would be abandoned?" I ask, turning to see Edward getting out of the car.

He shrugs, "Just a guess. The weeds looked high." He sits on the hood and lights a cigarette, the smoke settling around him in the still air.

I get out and lean on the warm hood next to him. "I wonder why it's abandoned. It's beautiful. I always wanted to live in a house with a wraparound porch."

"I'll make sure you do someday." I smile at that and we both stare at the property. I envision us living there, happy and free, maybe raising some horses or chickens.

While I look at the delicate scalloped detail of the roofline, much like a gingerbread house, Edward flicks his cigarette away and nudges me in the shoulder. "Ready for your driving lesson?"

My eyes widen as I take in what he's said. "Are you serious?" I smile in excitement and Edward tells me to get in the driver's seat.

I take my place behind the wheel, and Edward jumps in over the door into the passenger side. He gives me the basics about gas, braking, etcetera, and tells me to just go. Not knowing what a gas pedal feels like, I press too hard and we jerk forward, careening towards the barn until I screech and slam on the brakes, making us both hit our chests into the front of the car.

Edward just laughs and tells me to do it again, pointing out that I may want to turn away from the barn. I press slowly this time, inching us forward and jerking a bit as I get used to the right amount of pressure. I turn the wheel into the field and soon pick up speed. He teaches me how to brake easier, and we joyride in the field for what feels like forever, listening to our CD and making the weeds flatten under the tires. Edward tells me to step on it, and he pulls the wheel all the way towards him while I squeal and laugh as we're doing what he calls 'donuts' in an empty, run down field in Alabama.

I stop the car as the sun starts to retreat, the dust settling around us in a cloud, and we sit looking out at the overgrown landscape quietly. I think it's the most peaceful place I've ever been. I hear a clicking sound next to me and turn to see Edward pointing a disposable camera my way. I push my hand in front of it and laugh, telling him to stop but he slaps my hand away. He pulls me towards him and holds the camera up pointing towards us. "Smile," he says, so I do, and as I hear the click, I feel his tongue lick the side of my face. I wrinkle my nose, shrieking, and tell him to take it again. This time, I move to place a sloppy kiss on his cheek right before he presses the button. "One more," he laughs, and we both look towards the camera, hoping to capture the way we feel at that very moment.

"You should always be this happy," he says softly, and turns the camera back my way to take a few more in the hot, orange sunlight of late afternoon.

* * *

We decide to check out the yellow house and walk up the steps of the porch, our weight making the joints and boards groan in protest. Edward peels back one of the plywood pieces covering a downstairs window and seeing no glass behind it, pulls it off the rest of the way. The wood goes clattering down onto the porch and we peer in, the light from the dwindling sun not helping much as we try to make out what's inside.

Edward helps me hurdle the window frame and steps in after me. We stand looking around the space, mostly devoid of any furnishings except for a few chairs, a broken dining room table, and what I'm guessing is a couch under a draped sheet. Edward bounces on the floor once or twice, testing its strength, and we move forward into the room once he's satisfied we're not going to fall through.

We enter into a hallway with peeling wallpaper decorated with big roses that I guess were once red but are now a grayish-pink faded with time. There are brighter spots on the wall in oval and square shapes where family pictures may have once hung proudly. Edward starts up the large staircase and points out a broken step for me to avoid, and we climb up to the second floor landing. There's no plywood on the window in the hallway and I look out, seeing nothing but the barn and acres of deserted land.

"We could stay here forever and no one would find us," I whisper, feeling strangely like my voice would be too loud in this old house if I spoke normally.

"You'd be all mine," he chuckles, "no one would be able to take you away."

I turn back to him. "I wouldn't want them to." He smiles at me, and takes my hand, leading me towards an open doorway.

There isn't any plywood on these windows either, and the late sun shows the dust motes dancing in the air while we cross the almost empty room. There's an empty bedframe, cracked and missing some wood slats, and when Edward removes a sheet from a piece of furniture, we see it's one of those dressers with a large, oval mirror attached; its glass dingy and dusty with a hairline crack towards the top. I walk past it, but Edward pulls me back and stands me in front of him, his hands gripping my arms. When I protest and try to move, he asks me what the problem is.

"I don't like to look at myself," I answer quietly, and wait for him to let me go so I can move away.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" He holds my arms tighter, making it impossible to escape.

"I know I'm not pretty."

I'm met with silence until Edward pulls me back closer to him so the front of his body is brushing the back of mine. "What do you think is not pretty about you?" he asks, his slightly angry eyes roaming my body in the mirror.

His scrutiny makes me bashful, and I squeak out the first thing I think of. "My hair." As much as I love the ability to hide behind the long length, I know it's not the hair of a girl in a shampoo commercial.

Edward's hand leaves my arm and moves up my back slowly, his fingers tracing over my neck until he grabs my hair in his fist. He wraps it around his knuckles once and lightly pulls so my head is drawn backwards and his cheek brushes across my hairline. "Your hair…all I want to do is grab fistfuls of it and cling to it," he says slowly and sensually into my skin as he tugs. "It's perfect. What else?" he asks, looking at me hotly in the mirror.

"My face," I say weakly, glad he's behind me for support because my knees are threatening to buckle at the look he's giving me.

His other hand loosens its grip on my arm and skims my shoulder, ghosts over my collarbone, and trails up to my cheek, the backs of his fingers brushing over my blush. "Your skin, so fucking gorgeous. Not a mark, not a blemish. Creamy and white. Soft. You're so soft. Perfect." His fingers graze my chin and roam to my other cheek, his nails lightly skimming across my flesh. "What else?"

"I'm too skinny." I swallow as I feel his hand leave my cheek to brush against the mark he left on my neck a few days ago, now purple in color, before he slides it down between my breasts to land on my stomach. My nipples peak at the sensation, and I see him watching them harden through my thin bra and shirt. His hand splays open, fingers wide across the material, rubbing slowly from side to side before dipping low across my abdomen to skim my hips. "You're curvy exactly where you should be." His hand catches the hem and pulls it up, exposing my bare stomach, which he quickly puts his hand against. "Perfect."

His lips move to my neck and he places a gentle but scorching open-mouthed, lingering kiss against me. The tip of his tongue peeks out and lightly licks before his mouth moves to my ear and he returns his eyes to mine in the reflection of the mirror. "You, Swan, are the most beautiful fucking creature I've ever seen."

My mouth opens in a silent gasp at his words, my head cloudy with lust. My eyes close at the feel of his mouth returning to my neck. "Well, why haven't you fucked me then?" I ask, breathless, and his body goes rigid behind me.

My eyes open to see why he's gone so still, and the look he's giving me is pure, undeniable anger. "You think I don't want to fuck you?" He takes a step back, his eyes shooting daggers at mine. "You're dead fucking wrong."

"But…you haven't..." I trail off; shaking my head to clear the haze he's put me under but is now quickly ripping away from me.

He stares at my reflection a moment before he answers, his voice dipping low but keeping its level of ire. "I'm not Mike Fucking Newton, Bella. You mean more to me than just a fuck. I would never assume I could treat you like that, like someone to get off with." I see his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallows his distaste. "You're everything to me."

I suck in my breath and hold it, before letting it out in a rush of air with my next words. "I killed Mike Fucking Newton because I couldn't imagine anyone else's hands on me but yours." I finish, matching his stare and daring him to deny me.

We're locked in a stare down until I'm pushed from behind into the dresser, my hips digging into the edge from the pressure of Edward's body on mine. "Say it, Bella. Say it." He demands as his lips move over my neck, biting and licking the skin.

"Sangre." My hand reaches back to grasp his head, holding him in position to suck at my flesh.

"You're mine. That fuck will never be able to touch you again. I'm the _only_ one that gets to touch you." He snarls against my skin and I nod my head, too overwhelmed by his intensity to speak.

I feel his body shift and his hard cock presses into the small of my back. My stomach clenches, knowing that I did that to him.

That _I_ made him feel this way.

That _I_ made him want to own me.

His hand moves back to my stomach and he immediately moves down inside my jeans and into my panties, feeling me already wet for him. His entire hand covers my flesh and I moan embarrassingly loud at the level of arousal I've never felt before. It's a shock to my system.

Edward's other hand moves up my body and grasps my chin, holding my head back to give him better access to the side of my neck that he hasn't branded. His teeth scrape and I feel my skin being sucked into his mouth before he releases it with a nip. "I don't want to fuck you, Bella. I want to _consume_ you," he says into my shoulder, his hot breath seeping through my t-shirt and setting my body on fire.

"Yes. Fuck, yes." I answer and he quickly turns me with force. His hand leaves my jeans and reaches around to my ass, squeezing and grabbing and pulling my body to rub against his. His mouth finds mine and immediately bites down before engulfing my lips under his. I pull at his hair with both hands, not able to get close enough, and he starts walking backwards, his hands still on my ass and pulling me with him.

We bump into the bedframe but his mouth never leaves mine, and he turns me around, letting go of me to coax me onto the sheet that had fallen to the floor. As soon as I've landed, he's on top of me, straddling my body and pushing my t-shirt up to my neck with his greedy hands.

His lips find one of my nipples quickly and he bites again, making me buck up at the exquisite pain until he sucks it into his mouth, his tongue circling the peak roughly. "Fucking beautiful. I don't want to ever hear you say that shit again." I nod at his request and he groans into my skin when my hands move to his heavy buckle, where I start to undo his belt.

He rises back up, still straddling me, and whips his belt open himself, undoing the button of his fly and quickly pulling the zipper down.

Edward Masen goes commando. I swallow at the sight of the hair peeking out at me from the open v of his jeans and watch hungrily as he whips his shirt off. There's still enough light coming through the windows to allow me to see a nipple ring and a tattoo I didn't know he had. Across his ribcage, a large knife appears to stab his skin and exit just below, dripping blood down his right hip.

I groan internally at the sight and immediately sit up, my tongue tracing the blade where it spears his taut body. Edward's hands reach for the back of my shirt, and he pulls it off quickly, making me complain at the halting of my tattoo adoration. He pushes me back down and stares at me, his heavy breath making his chest heave, and I look at the hair trailing down into his pants again, licking my lips.

"Put your arms up above your head on the sheet," he says, and I follow his instruction immediately, surprisingly not shy to be completely bare in front of him. He makes me forget every insecure feeling I've ever had and my body shivers in anticipation.

I watch his face as he looks down at me from his kneeled position looming over my body, his eyes trailing from his mark on my neck, slowly moving across my breasts, and down my stomach. When his eyes fall on my waistband, he takes a finger and traces just inside the top. His touch sends a wave of need through me, and I gyrate my hips under him, making him hum appreciatively. "So fucking hot."

"No, you are," I say and bring my hands towards him, reaching out to touch him. I rub the hard bulge straining the material to the right of the opening as Edward curses. My fingers stroke down the exposed trail of hair and I grab either side of his fly to pull it open further, making his cock shift out, which I immediately grab in my hand. He's warm and smooth and incredibly hard, the veins popping up under the skin making beautiful ridges that I trace my fingers over.

"Fuck, Swan," he says and I look at him while I touch him. His eyes are dripping sex right onto my body, and my thighs clench together at the way he's looking at me.

Like I'm a piece of bloody meat he's about to devour.

He moves my hands away and lowers his jeans, sliding them past his ass and stopping mid-thigh. He grabs my pants and panties together and starts to pull them, my legs helping as I shimmy them down and off, my feet guiding them the rest of the way to lay somewhere on the floor behind him.

He takes my leg and pulls it up between his thighs and moves it onto the outside of his body. He does the same with the other and I'm completely open and exposed to him. His eyes are liquid fire as he watches his own finger as it moves forward and slides up my slit, before placing it deftly inside.

"Fuck!" I cry out at the sensation, and move my hips, causing Edward to start fingering me roughly. "Harder," I say, my eyes travelling down to watch as he adds a second finger, shoving it inside me and rubbing along with the other one.

"Yeah? You like that?" he pants, his fingers never stopping as they push in and out of me. I answer him with a swivel of my hips, trying to get him deeper and he throws his head back in a strangled moan before he quickly pulls his fingers out and brings them to my mouth where I suck them in, feasting on myself. He watches my tongue lick my taste off of him as he lines his cock up against me.

I barely have time to nod my head before he pushes himself into my body, crushing his pelvis right up against mine with a guttural cry. He sucks in air before he starts moving, his cock sliding in and out of me at a fast pace.

His mouth dips to my neck and he starts to suck under my earlobe, our bodies making a delicious slapping sound as he rams his body against mine repeatedly.

"Take my cock, baby, that's it." He pulls back and looks down at where we're joined, moaning at the sight and licking his lips. "I fucking own this pussy," he says as he watches and his words make me start to burn.

"Oh!" I cry out, unfamiliar with the intensity that's building quickly in my body. I've gotten myself off before, but I've never come from sex. The feeling is unreal. My muscles contract and Edward grunts, his body swooping and dipping over mine as his cock continues to stroke in and out of me.

I pull my knees up as high as I can, as wide as I can, and brace my feet against his thighs, splaying myself open for him even more. He leans down and captures my lip in his teeth, pulling and sucking as his hips continue to pound into me. His pace starts to stutter, and his eyes find mine.

"This is it, Bella. Forever. It's us. You're fucking mine," he grunts as his eyes burn fire into me, our gaze never letting up even when I start to feel my eyes close with the beginning of an orgasm so powerful my stomach instantly clenches, and I arch my back to loosen the pressure. The tilting of my hips makes Edward's ramming cock rub right against my clit, and before I know it, I'm coming. Shockwaves of fulfillment plunge through my body and escape through every pore.

At my climax, Edward turns feral and thrusts deeper, and the rocking of his body against mine makes the wood creak. As I'm riding out my orgasm, Edward grits his teeth. "Death is the only thing that will ever take you from me. Say it," he demands through clenched lips.

"I'm fucking yours. I'm yours forever. Until I die." With that, Edward jerks up off of me and his cock juts out, his come landing on me in long streams. He immediately reaches down between us and grips his dick, milking the last drops out.

He falls down heavily on me, his weight welcome on my shuddering body. We pant into each other's skin, as his hand roams up and down my side roughly, pinching my breast.

When he feels my tongue on his neck, licking the sweat from his tattoo, his rough voice glides over my shoulder and he repeats the word I've traced. Our oath.

"Sangre."

* * *

_**The sinners**_ are coming! Find the link on my profile or fave authors.

* * *

_**Follow me on twitter: planetbluefic**_

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Business Casual by WhatsMyNomDePlume**

The lines between boss and employee, human and immortal, hero and damsel, coworker and lover, and right and wrong are about to become very blurry for Edward and Bella.

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_**As always, thank you to Carrie ZM and LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Remember, reviews make me happy!**_


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

_**There will never be  
**__**Another one like you  
**__**There will never be  
**__**Another one who can  
**__**Do the things you do, oh**_

**- "Shaman's Blues", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

Edward leans against the broken bed smoking while I watch him from my position on the floor, lying on the sheet next to him. Neither of us has gotten dressed and I loathe the fact that it's hard to see him in all his naked glory since the sun is almost all the way down. The flare from his cigarette when he inhales lights his face for brief moments in a deep orange hue, and I soak in all I can during those fleeting seconds. My eyes fall on his lips, his eyes, and his chin in flashes of illumination.

"Wanna try smoking again?" He grins at me, holding the cigarette out, but I just shake my head.

"I'll leave it to the professional." I rest my head in my hand and pull some of his leg hair, causing him to jerk. "So…" I trail off, not sure how to ask what I want to.

He inhales and exhales, waiting for me to finish. "Yeah?" he finally asks when I'm not forthcoming.

"Have you, um, you know, been with lots of girls?" My face feels as hot as I imagine the end of his cigarette to be. I shuffle around on the sheet, clearing my throat, waiting for him to answer.

"No, not really." The red glow shows me his eyes are narrowed in my direction. "You been with anyone besides Mike Fucking Newton?" he chokes out, the name catching in his throat.

"No. Mike was the first," I admit.

"Why him?" Edward asks, his voice tinged with tension.

I hesitate, trying to form my words in a way that doesn't make me sound pathetic. "I thought…I thought that maybe he liked me. He was nice to me. I was…very lonely and I misinterpreted someone not being a prick to me as fondness." I shrug one shoulder. "I guess I thought it was a way to get him to keep being kind to me when everyone else wasn't."

He eyes me, finally shaking his head and smirking. "You know, your mind comes up with some fucked up shit sometimes."

I nod, not disagreeing.

"I hate that he had you at all." The smirk leaves his face, replaced by bitterness.

I nod again, there's no denying I feel the same way.

"Did he ever hurt you?" he asks, "cause I'll gladly go dig up his fucking grave so I can stab him again."

Shaking my head, I smile slightly, enjoying Edward's viciousness. "No, never, he just did his thing. I never really got anything out of it."

Edward leans his head back against the crooked frame. "I can't believe I fucking want to know this," he says under his breath and stamps out the cigarette on the wood floor. "Did he ever make you come like that?" He doesn't look at me, instead he busies himself with his lighter, opening and snapping the cover closed repeatedly.

I sit up quickly, anxious to assuage his doubt. "No!" I pause while I try to gather my thoughts. "I can't even describe what being with you is like." I look up to the dark ceiling, waiting for the words to come. "It's like nothing I thought it would ever be for me. Having you inside me feels like…if I were to die, right after, that it would be okay because I experienced something brighter than the sun." I rest my hand on his leg and look down at my fingers on his skin. "I wish I could take back every other time."

Edward moves his hand slowly, covering mine and squeezes my fingers in between his tightly. "I wasn't preoccupied with sex like most of the guys I was in the homes with. I had other shit to worry about. I just didn't get the thrill of it all. I've had two girls, I guess I thought it was something I was supposed to do." Edward pulls on my hand so I move closer, and he guides my hips so that I'm straddling his legs. His hands circle my waist and his thumbs rub against me, their repetitive circles lulling me. I feel his warm thighs under mine as he pulls me closer, the tip of his dick pressing against me. The air between us shifts, the atmosphere charged, and as Edward puts his hands on either side of my face, his eyes burn into my own. "There's no fucking way it could ever feel remotely close to what we just did with anyone else." He pauses, sucking in a breath. "It's us, Bella. We're the whole fucking thing."

I shake my head and lean my forehead against his. "It wasn't just sex," I agree.

He exhales, his breath floating over my skin and setting me on fire with its warmth. "No, it was sangre. Fuck the literal translation of the word, we've changed it. Now, it means everything." Edward tightens his grasp on my cheeks, his fingers catching my hair in his claw-like grip. "There's no life without you, no Earth, no universe. Nothing exists if we're not together."

A quiet sob of emotion escapes me at the overwhelming feeling he's unleashed within me, the feeling of being wanted. I close my eyes at the feel of his lips pressing against mine, feathery light but way too brief. His hand leaves my waist and I hear the snap of the lighter. I look to see the flicker of flame setting us in a small, orange circle. He places the still opened lighter on the floor, and I watch shadows dance across the walls in its dim radiance.

He pulls his jeans closer and fishes around the pockets before pulling out a small switchblade I've never seen before. Opening the knife, the shiny metal glints in the firelight and Edward holds it up between us.

Watching him intently, I don't move when his other hand moves back to my waist and tightens against me, while the one holding the knife comes closer to my mouth. I don't make a sound as Edward places the sharp end to my lip, pressing gently, until I feel the skin break.

"Don't lick," he instructs, and passes the knife to me. I take it in my hand and try not to shake as I bring the blade up to his mouth. Pushing cautiously, I see the nick I create start to emit a drop of blood and I pull the knife away.

"It's us," he says, his eyes boring into mine, the fire from the lighter reflecting in his irises and making them glimmer.

"It's us," I whisper, before we lean in to seal our fate together in a way no one else would understand.

* * *

It's late by the time Edward pulls into the Key West Inn in Wetumpka. Despite its name, this motel is far from anything you'd find on the islands. My parents honeymooned there and I used to look at the pictures, trying to remember when they were happy; a time before she decided that ending her life over another man was more important than her family.

The pale yellow building and its rooms are clean though, and once we close the door, I fall face down on the bed, thoroughly exhausted but unable to stop smiling. The slight sting on my lip reminds me that I'm owned, and I touch my fingertip to it lightly.

Edward falls heavily on top of me, and his hands gather mine and pull them close to my shoulders, engulfing me in a tight squeeze.

"Sangre," he whispers into my ear, and I reply in kind.

I wonder if we'll ever say the word love, but for now, this feels perfect. We are connected by spilled blood. We are destined to live among blood. We are each other's blood.

We fall asleep that way, and when I wake up in the morning to see we haven't moved, it makes me feel good to know Edward didn't fall back into his habit of sleeping in a chair.

I wiggle around a bit to wake him, and he groans but moves off of me so I can get to the bathroom. I wash my face of yesterday's eyeliner and brush my teeth quickly, mindful of the slight scab on my lip.

After a shower, I wipe the mirror of steam and stare at my reflection. I thought I couldn't look happier than I did when we left Archer, but I was wrong. I'm positively glowing. Edward's perusal of me in the mirror last night makes me see myself differently, and for once I see in front of me a girl that has a blush to her cheek and a body that, seemingly overnight, curves seductively like a woman's should.

I go out in a towel, hoping perhaps Edward wants a little more of what we did last night. Instead, I'm mildly alarmed when I see Edward sitting on the edge of the bed with an expression I haven't seen on him before.

Worry.

"What is it?" I ask, panicked. He motions for me to join him on the still made bed and I do so nervously, afraid of what he's going to say.

"Your father."

That's the last thing I expect to hear, and my mouth falls open silently as I follow the nod of his head towards the TV. My father's there, in his uniform, standing in front of a podium with microphones lined up in front of him. I've come in at the end, but the message is clear.

My father has turned to the public for help in finding me, his abducted teenage daughter.

My stomach rolls as the clip ends, and I put my head down to my knees and cover myself with my arms. I'm surprised I'm as distressed as I am about upsetting him. Without even hearing his words fully, the agony on his face tells me so much more than I ever imagined he might feel.

The only thing that makes me look up is the sudden mention of Edward Masen's parents, deceased since 2004. Seeing as this is really the only information they have about Edward, they go on to list a formidable variety of his parent's crimes, including theft, drug dealing, and child endangerment. At that last one, I feel Edward cringe next to me, as his hands tighten into fists on his thighs.

Old FBI or police drawings appear on screen, apparently the only thing in existence that portrays what Elizabeth and Edward Masen look like. It seems they weren't keen on taking their own picture either, and even if they did, I'm not sure where they might be. It's not like anybody would be uploading Masen Christmas dinners on Facebook.

The anchor moves on to less titillating fare, a local fire at the recycling center, and Edward turns the volume off.

I wait for him to say something, anything, but he just stares at the video of the fire blazing while firemen try to get it under control.

"Now what?" I ask, my voice scratchy and dry.

"They're not dead," he responds with a slight quiver in his voice. I search his face, finding distress playing over his features, and it's the first time I question whether or not they just might be.

Maybe we're chasing ghosts.

I put my arm around him tentatively despite how intimate we were last night, and just tell him that I know they are, and that we'll be with them soon.

* * *

Edward anxiously paces, showers twice, and chain-smokes the rest of the morning. He avoids the TV and is itching to get to Montgomery, which is about a half an hour away. He keeps checking his burner for a call from the dealer he's been trying to track down. Apparently, this guy has no phone and everything goes through his 'people' so it's like a game of tag trying to get messages through.

I hear him say his uncle's name to someone, and I hope whomever he's speaking to isn't trying to contact Peter to confirm that Edward is there on his behalf. The longer we hold onto the product, the more danger we're in of these drug deals going badly if they get word Edward is wanted for killing Peter. Edward reassures me that these people want the meth and that they don't give a fuck where or who it comes from. He doesn't seem to think that if Peter is dead, these guys won't be happy that there won't be any more drugs coming their way, and surely they'd blame Edward. He knows this world better than me though, so I just keep my worries to myself.

He's also busy trying to locate someone that can get us both passports and me a fake license. I guess knowing criminals has its advantages, as I have no clue how to even go about such a thing, but he says he has a lead, and we should be able to get them when we cross into Mississippi.

I sit and watch my father's plea twice more until I just can't take it and turn the set off. Even though I'm upset about it, I push it down, as I'm more concerned that we are becoming widespread news, covering three states now. I wonder if the story will beat us to Mississippi, making our trip even more difficult. I'd been banking on the fact that eventually interest in us would wane like most things do, and we'd have a pretty clear shot to Mexico.

Finally, Edward gets his call and we set off to the next meet up point. Once again, I'm stuck in the car in a pretty shitty neighborhood staring at walls covered in graffiti, and I'm even more anxious being alone than the other times because it's starting to get dark out and the convertible top is jammed due to the slashed fabric and won't go up. Edward isn't happy about leaving me so exposed, but he refuses to let me come inside with him. He makes sure I have a knife before he gets out of the car, and I watch the apartment building he walks into like a hawk. I don't know which window I should be watching, but there are shadows and movement on the fourth floor, so I keep my eye on that one.

After about fifteen minutes, Edward bounds towards the car and gets in quickly, putting it in gear and pulling away. I check him quickly for blood, relief flooding me when I find none, and he hands me the envelope.

"Fourteen," he says and lights a cigarette. "Let's celebrate. Ever drink whiskey before, Swan?"

I open the envelope to see the money and then shove it into the glove compartment. This is becoming routine, I think, and it makes me laugh to myself. "Nope. Beer only."

We drive for a while and I'm about to tell Edward to stop somewhere so I can pee when he points out a depressing liquor store on a corner. It's the only business open in the area and comes complete with neon beer advertisements, lottery signs, and a boarded up window panel. I bob my knee while we sit outside a moment as Edward assesses the situation. No one has gone in or come out for a bit, and an older man seems to be the only one manning the store.

"Put your hood up," he instructs even though I was already doing so. We get out of the car and Edward immediately comes to my side and puts his vice grip on my neck. "Don't say anything, just walk right next to me."

"I really have to pee." He doesn't look too happy at my statement, but nods and tells me we'll ask the man inside if I can use the bathroom.

His eyes dart around and I see his other hand patting the knife he's stuck in his waistband in reassurance. He nods slightly towards the door. "There's a camera up there. Do not smile. Do not look at me."

I know instantly what he's doing; he's making sure it looks like I'm not there willingly. My stomach knots at the thought that he still doubts we'll make it to Mexico together.

A bell overhead rings as Edward pushes the door open, and I hear country music playing low as we walk into the dingy store. At our approach, the man behind the counter barely looks up from what appears to be a magazine open to a picture of a naked girl masturbating. He's leaning on the counter, giving us a good view of his head, bald and covered in tattoos. The only hair he has is in the form of a long, frazzled gray beard. He looks up and eyes me when Edward speaks. "My girl needs to use the bathroom."

"Are you gonna buy anything? No bathroom if you're not," the man says, still leaning over his pornography. He looks me up and down, but I can't tell if he recognizes me.

Edward's hand tightens on my neck, and I know he's noticed the guy looking at me. He confirms we're buying something and I start towards where the man has pointed. I walk down a small cramped hallway with cases of beer stacked up on either side, making it hard to navigate. I look back to check if I can see Edward and catch the man smiling my way. I turn quickly towards one door and open it, finding a tiny closet with a toilet and a small sink. The toilet paper is dangling from a hanger hooked over the doorknob, and there are more porn magazines on the floor showcasing girls of questionable age.

I do what I have to quickly, trying not to touch anything, and make my way back out to the front of the store. The twang of Willie Nelson greets me from the radio as I walk, my body happy at the relief of being able to use the bathroom. I'm about to hum along as I round the last wall of stacked beer until Edward's unmistakable agitated and angry voice stops me in my tracks.

"You were fucking _looking_ at her when she walked away! She's not yours to look at like some whore in your magazine! I'll cut your eyes out of your fucking head!"

Willie singing about someone always being on his mind and the loud buzz from the beer cooler against the wall underscores the distinctive sound of a shotgun being cocked.

"You put that knife down right now, boy, or I'll blow ya to bits."

* * *

Rosalie McCarty stands next to Charlie as they watch the candlelight vigil outside the gates of their trailer park. Two pictures lay propped up side by side surrounded by flowers, that of Michael Newton and Isabella Swan. Teenagers have made it a gathering place, something to be 'seen' at, and the local news station captures the whole thing for the nightly broadcast.

"She'd have hated this," Rosalie says as she rocks a baby on her hip. "She didn't have friends. These kids didn't know her."

Charlie just grunts, his eyes on young girls shedding fake tears as they touch her picture in hopes of getting on TV.

"She had no one?" he asks Rosalie gruffly, ashamed to admit that he doesn't know his daughter at all.

"Only person that girl ever mentioned to me was Edward Masen. Seemed mighty keen on him, asking questions and what not." The baby makes a wailing sound and Rosalie shifts her from one hip to the other.

Charlie exhales loudly. "Rosalie, what if I said that I thought Bella was more an accomplice than a victim?" He looks down at the blond next to him warily.

Rosalie meets Charlie's eyes and pauses, before answering truthfully. "I'd say you best keep that to yourself." She eyes him pointedly and Charlie takes that to mean she's in agreement with his suspicion.

Charlie takes a sip of his Coke as he watches Mrs. McCarty walk away trying to soothe her infant. Turning back to the ridiculous gathering, he sighs heavily, wondering if he'll ever see his own baby again.

* * *

**The Sinners Are Coming March 4, 2014 **

**Se7en Stories from Se7en of the Twilight Fandom's Most Sinful **

**Will You Follow?**

Find the link in my profile or fave authors.

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_**Follow me on twitter: planetbluefic**_

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**The Learning Curve by Amethyst Jackson**

AU and AH. Short chapters with daily updates. When Bella's boyfriend brings up the issue of her virginity with his ex, she decides to take charge of her own fate. Now complete with occasional snippets to come.

* * *

_**As always, thank you to Carrie ZM and LayAtHomeMom for their hard work. (**__**I am actually WITH Carrie ZM in an airport as we post this together! Happy Day!)**_

_**Remember, reviews make me happy!**_


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

_**Poor Otis dead and gone  
Left me here to sing his song  
Pretty little girl with the red dress on  
Poor Otis dead and gone **_

**- "Runnin' Blue", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

"_You put that knife down right now, boy, or I'll blow ya to bits."_

* * *

Inching forward, I see the guy standing behind the counter, holding a shotgun in midair aimed directly at Edward. I put my hand over my mouth to stifle a cry, and look between the two men, noticing Edward has his knife out and open, ready to strike. Even though it's his favorite, the big one with the serrated edge and extremely sharp point, his knife is no match for a gun, and I wonder just what in the hell Edward is thinking he's going to do.

He has to have seen me approach from the hallway, but isn't moving his wild stare from the barrel of the weapon in front of him. I can only assume it's to keep the guy's attention away from noticing my position.

Regardless of the fact I'm scared and ready to scream, protecting Edward is the only thing I can think of to do, so on reflex, I slip my own knife out of my pocket and with shaky hands, I open it silently.

"You can either get the fuck out of my store on your feet or in a body bag," the man says to Edward when he realizes that Edward's not backing down. Edward continues to stare, saying nothing in return, while his body is tense and ready to spring. I can see the exact moment when his mind goes from rational to crazy; his blackened eyes take on that intense look he got when he stabbed the man at the Piggly Wiggly, and I pray he doesn't attack the guy before I can do something.

I see a bottle opener lying on a case of beer next to me, so I pick it up quickly and throw it down the aisle off to the left. The metal clangs against some bottles before falling to the ground, and what I hoped would happen does; the noise startles the man threatening to shoot my Edward, and the shotgun jerks slightly towards where the opener landed.

I take my cue, and lunge.

My blade goes into his side like a hot knife cutting through butter. He reacts to the sudden intrusion by pulling the trigger, making bottles explode in a cacophony of shattering glass to the right of Edward's head. When I pull the knife out, he instinctively puts a hand on his side and lowers the shotgun with a look of disbelief on his face when he sees me. I waste no time as I think about how close to Edward that bullet went, and in one swift motion, I reach up and slash my knife across the man's neck from behind. Blood spurts out and sprays over the counter, landing on Edward and everything in between. The man reflexively grasps his neck; the blood quickly pulses out and covers his entire hand in red waves. He looks back towards Edward as he falls, his mouth opening and closing like a fish but unable to make a words. His throat gurgles and bubbles as he chokes on his own blood before quickly hitting the floor and succumbing to death.

Blood is rapidly coating the cement floor, so Edward pulls me by the arm away from the mess. My foot hits the shotgun that's landed at the man's feet, and I reach down to grab it without hesitation. Edward snatches the bottle of whiskey and two packs of cigarettes from the counter before leading me outside, making sure he's dragging me by the arm roughly down the sidewalk. I hold the shotgun in front of me out of the camera's view and keep it tucked into my side as he pushes me into the car and closes my door. As soon as he gets behind the wheel, he starts it up quickly and peels out into the empty road, speeding away.

The scoreboard flashes behind my eyes; Bella Swan: 2, Edward Masen: 3.

Once we've gained some distance from the store, I put my head down between my knees and scream at the top of my lungs towards the floor of the car. It feels good, cathartic, and I almost do it again until I feel Edward's hand on my neck.

"It's okay, Bella. There weren't any cameras inside." He strokes my head; his hand running down my hair and back a few times until I sit up. "It's over."

I start to laugh. Big, booming guffaws that I can't stop. Edward keeps driving and out of the corner of my eye I see him glancing at me every few seconds. I sigh, calming down, and take a few breaths in and out through my nose.

"I don't remember it starting." My voice begins to quiver and I reach down to the bottle Edward threw at my feet lying next to the shotgun. Untwisting the cap, I take a healthy swig and choke on the fiery liquid, spitting some out on the dashboard but taking another gulp again once my coughing stops.

"That was fucking amazing." Edward shakes his head as he grabs the bottle and tips his head back, taking a drink of his own.

"It kinda felt...good," I admit, as I slide over and lean against the center console that separates us, pressing my mouth against Edward's neck. I feel him take another swallow through my lips, and my tongue moves across his Adam's apple.

"How so?" he asks, his voice gravelly, my actions on his neck beginning to affect him.

My lips continue to move over his throat, sucking on the skin hard enough to leave my own mark. "I was able to protect _you_ for once."

I hear Edward suck in a breath before he shoves the bottle my way and steps on the gas. I take another sip and wipe the dribble from my chin with the sleeve of my hoodie.

I feel his hand on my leg, moving up quickly to make its way between my thighs. Edward growls as he presses his hand up against me hard, and I squeeze my legs together, trapping him there. "Fuck, Swan, you're so hot right here."

"I want you, right now," I say, and hold the bottle to his lips. He keeps his eyes on the road but lets me pour the whiskey into his mouth. For the first time, I see blood on my hand and I look at it in the bright moonlight shining down on us in the convertible. I look over to Edward and see his hoodie splattered in blood, but before I can suggest we wash up, he pulls the car down a cracked road that appears to have been abandoned long ago. Weeds poke out of the fissures in the asphalt and the headlights pass over dented shopping carts, discarded construction material, and tons of litter.

There's a small waterway ahead of us, and he pulls over under a viaduct holding train tracks so that we're out of sight. I cap the bottle as he jerks the car into park, throwing himself on me the minute the car bucks to a halt. His mouth is everywhere, his hands grabbing me and digging into my thighs and stomach. He pulls at me, causing me to jab my hip into the hard plastic of the console. He pulls me again and I'm up and over it, half laying across the divide and half pressed up against his body. I break away to adjust the corner that's poking me, and he takes that moment to push my body through the seats towards the back of the convertible. I crawl through the opening and scramble up onto the back of the car, perching myself up on the seat, so I'm sitting on the top that won't go up. Edward is directly behind me and I don't get a minute to breathe before his mouth is pressed against mine once more. His lips are hungry, searching and messy, sliding down to my neck before I feel the unmistakable sensation of his teeth on me. He sucks hard, bites quickly, and grinds his hard cock against me. I hold his face and pull him back up to my mouth, my tongue invading swiftly and deeply while he matches me in urgency. I pull back when I feel a sting from the scab on my lip, and in the glow from the moon, I see I've left some blood on his cheek. My finger traces over the smear, and Edward looks at my hand and then to himself, before he moves to take off his hoodie. Wiping my hand down with it, he tosses it on the floor of the backseat and captures my mouth again.

I fumble with the buckle and button on his jeans while he helps, freeing himself. He's rock hard in his hand as he pulls my shirt and bra up to suck on a nipple. I hold his head tightly to me, enjoying the licking and sucking as he moves greedily between both breasts while he unbuttons my own pants. "Goddammit Bella, I need to be inside you, right fucking now," he breathes against my stomach in a rush.

I nod and scoot my ass up so he can pull my jeans down. "You have to start wearing some motherfucking skirts," he curses while I toe off my sneakers, and he draws the denim down my legs and latches onto my panties, pulling them off together. I reach for him and instead of coming back to line his body up against mine, I feel his hair against my thigh right before his tongue takes a long, hot lick over my pussy. My muscles clench and I cry out at the unfamiliar sensation.

He eats me like he fucks.

Frenzied, ravenous, claiming.

He's got me moaning within seconds. One hand is grasping his chaotic hair while the other is on the trunk, bracing my body and trying to keep it upright. My feet rise up and rest on the back of both front seats and he growls against me, sending vibrations right through my body. I feel his tongue dive into my entrance and the feeling is enough to make me cry out and tighten around him.

Before I've even finished riding out the swell of my orgasm, Edward moves back up, bringing my legs with him to hang over his shoulders. He reaches down and grips himself, and I look between us to watch as his cock rubs against my swollen clit a few times before he pushes his way in, both of us gasping at the overwhelming sensation of being joined this way again.

"You and that fucking knife…goddamn. I'm gonna fuck you hard, beautiful. You'd better hold on," he says as his hips start pushing into me rapidly. I can't brace myself up against the trunk at all so I let myself fall back, the cold metal making the exposed part of my back shiver. I move one arm down and touch myself, while my hips move as much as they can while being pinned by him as he fucks the life out of me.

Edward thrusts in and out of me powerfully, and I feel myself start to come again as he takes my legs, moving them off his shoulders to cradle his hips. He practically climbs me like a tree up across the trunk of the car, and he begins to pound into me, fast and hard, his moans turning urgent as he reaches for my tit and pinches my nipple hard with his fingers. I cry out and reach for his nipple ring, twisting it slightly, enough for him to grunt and shudder over me in either pleasure or pain. The light of the moon covers us like a blanket, and I can see the sweaty sheen that coats our bodies as they slap together. His eyes shoot daggers into mine as they lock and we rapidly approach the climax of our fucking.

"Don't you ever fucking put yourself in danger like that again," he grunts before lowering his mouth to my neck and sucking hard. "Do you know what I would do without you?" He punctuates his words against my neck with his last final thrusts, "I. Would. Fucking. Kill. Myself…..Fuck!" The look on his face when he comes is nothing short of amazing; the roar escaping his mouth is the most erotic sound I've ever heard. My own orgasm surfaces and I feel myself tighten around him a second time just as he slows.

We rock together, panting, and I feel Edward let his weight rest on me fully. Grasping my hands in his, his breath fans out over my face as he continues to slowly move back and forth.

My legs tighten around his waist, holding him there inside of me, as my ankles cross against his back.

"Do you know what I would do without _you_?" I ask breathily, flexing my hips to get the last bit of feeling out of our joined bodies.

Edward kisses my lips and pulls back, shaking his head. "Let's never find out."

* * *

The sun beats down on me as I sit in the back of the old green pickup truck Edward 'borrowed' once we'd crossed the Mississippi state line two days ago after burning the bloody hoodie and ditching the Sebring. This one had keys in it, so it was an easy decision, plus, everyone in Mississippi seems to have a pickup, so we blend well.

I'm perched up on top of the cab, the shotgun leaning up against the back window at my feet as I eat sunflower seeds and spit the shells out onto the dirt parking lot we've pulled into.

I look over to the old general store Edward entered and eye the old man sitting in the rocking chair, his withered body barely strong enough to keep his pipe clamped in his mouth let alone rock himself. He either doesn't see me or has no interest, so he doesn't turn my way.

We're feeling comfortable here, as there's been no news of us in Mississippi even though we're both pretty sure they'll tie the death of the porn guy in the liquor store to Edward any day now if they haven't already. I guess it's possible the camera over the door isn't working, so maybe there is no footage of us entering or exiting the building. We've been sticking to small towns; rural areas with not much activity or people, just in case.

The small breeze moves the hair around my shoulders; its light texture the result of my attempt at blowing it out with the motel hair dryer instead of letting it air dry as I normally do. Edward makes me feel pretty, and for the first time in my life, I have the desire to try to be. Edward insists I'm more beautiful than anyone in the world, but I've noticed he hasn't kept his hands out of its silky texture all day, despite what he says. I shift in the new denim skirt he insisted on buying me and smile at the feeling of my bare legs being exposed to the sun.

I watch as Edward pauses near the old man, listening to something before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his lighter, holding it out for the pipe that's eager to get lit. Edward is walking over to the truck casually, when the old man yells out, "What kind of boy wears makeup?" as he shakes his head at today's youth.

Edward grins; taking a bite of his apple and answers simply, "My chick digs it." I smile as he hoists himself up on the open bed, turning to lean against the sidewall. Moving to where he is, he engulfs me in his arms, drawing me back to lean against his chest as soon as I sit next to him. It's so…normal. We could be anybody. Lovers on a road trip or crazy kids playing hooky, and for a brief moment, I forget that we're not. I look through the bag he brought out, containing some more apples, the cream soda I love, pretzel sticks, and a bag of Hershey Kisses I'd asked for. I kiss him on the cheek and settle back into him.

It's an oddly lazy afternoon and just as I feel I'm drifting off to sleep, the telephone in the old booth next to the truck rings, and Edward moves me quickly to jog to the phone. He picks it up and listens for a moment before saying "Yep," and putting the receiver back in the cradle.

He was instructed this morning to wait by this payphone for details on where to go to get our identification. I'm excited, as this means there's only one more stop in Texas before we can head to Mexico. Houston is a seven-hour car ride if we were to take major highways, so I'm not sure how long it'll take on the back roads, but Edward thinks we'll get to the last drop off point in two days. He seems nervous about this last deal, but he assures me it's just anxiousness to be done with it all.

He has been working out this Texas deal with the last people from Alabama, and I wonder if he isn't a little nervous because he'll be doing business with a group that is unknown to him.

Earlier, I'd asked why the Alabama people didn't just buy the rest of our meth as planned, and he vaguely answered that the guy in Alabama and the Texas crew were working together, so we'd make a drop off for them on our way through. When I asked why we were chancing it, dealing with strangers, he told me not to worry about it, as he usually does when the drugs are involved.

We get into the cab of the pickup, and I secure the shotgun to the gun rack conveniently located within. It's not an odd thing to see down south, so no one takes notice of us driving around with a gun.

We drive for an hour or so and hit a pretty poor town called Feyette. I lean my elbow on the open window ledge and rest my head on my arm, looking at the debris that litters the yards of a row of run-down homes. As we near a stop sign, there's a lot that contains a burned out house with a rotting garage, and I see a group of children playing, throwing rocks at the old building. Some of their feet are bare, and I worry they'll step on broken glass and splintered wood.

I see no adults around, but there is a house a ways back from the road with clothes flapping on the line in the back. The screeching of the old truck's brakes make the kids turn, and they see me looking. A little girl in braids and a plaid dress waves to me, so I wave back and tell Edward to wait.

I turn in my seat and grab my bag of chocolate, taking handfuls and throwing them out to the kids. They laugh and jump, trying to catch whatever it is I'm throwing their way. Once the bag is empty, I tell Edward he can go but he waits another moment, watching the kids as they unwrap the candy and eat. He doesn't say anything as he begins to move again, and I wag my fingers at them as they get smaller and smaller in the distance.

Maybe someday, these kids will think back to one hot afternoon and remember us for something we did right.

* * *

Sheriff Tate grows frustrated when his deputy tells him Edward Masen and Isabella Swan's trail has grown cold. There's been a rash of car theft reports within the states they're believed to be travelling through, but stolen cars are not uncommon, and more than one gets reported daily.

Taking a sip of his cold coffee, he leans his ample frame back into his protesting chair and wonders how long it'll be until she's just another missing girl on an Amber Alert that met the wrong guy. The fact that one of his men is the father of the girl has made him more pro-active than he'd normally be, where he'd usually be delegating this sort of thing to his men.

The phone rings on his desk and he waits for Mary to tell him who's calling, expecting his wife to be inquiring when he might be home for dinner. Tonight is pot roast night.

Mary knocks on the frame of his door and points to the phone. "Sir, I think you'll want to take this. There's been another incident. Seems Isabella's prints have been identified at a crime scene in Alabama."

* * *

_******_** You guys know how important replying to all of your reviews is to me. I truly love the interaction I have with all of you. That being said, please forgive me for my utter FAIL in doing so last chapter. I was away for the weekend! I did read every single one and will do my best to catch up!**

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**The Cullen Legacy by pattyrose**

Legacy - A gift; sometimes unknowingly bestowed. Bella met Edward in a London pub, never imagining where each would be 7 years later: he a Congressman fueled by ever-growing political ambition, she the woman with an explosive secret that can end all his dreams. But Bella might soon find that revenge isn't all it's cracked up to be, and that Edward may harbor his own dark secrets.

* * *

_**As always, thank you to Carrie ZM and LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Remember, reviews make me happy!**_


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

_**Wishful sinful  
**__**Our love is beautiful to see  
**__**I know where I would like to be**_

**- "Wishful, Sinful", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

Pulling up to a brick house in Natchez, Edward tells me to bring my knife but leave the gun. He doesn't know these people that we're getting our passports and ID's from, but a guy he's done business with in the past has made the arrangements and he doesn't want to piss anyone off before he needs to. We have enough cash, obviously, but Edward was told that a little rock wouldn't hurt to smooth out the transaction. I worry out loud that we're walking into a crack den, but Edward just laughs at me and shakes his head, remarking on the fact that I can kill someone, but the idea of entering an unsavory house freaks me out. I just shrug, pointing out that was purely instinct to save him, not a choice like this is, and change into my jeans in the front seat as he instructs.

The walkway is dim, the light post on the path barely giving out any illumination as we make our way up the concrete steps. Everything looks okay, there's even a quaint swing hanging from the rafters of the porch. There aren't any windows boarded up or crack pipes lying around, so I relax a bit. Edward grabs my hand while he knocks on the barred screen door three times in quick succession, and we hear shuffling coming from inside.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm comin'," a male voice calls out before we hear multiple locks being thrown and the door gets pulled open in front of us.

A blond guy in a trucker hat and no shirt stands in the doorway, showing a missing tooth on the bottom row as he grins and looks between Edward and me. "Hey! Edward, right? Name's Jasper, come on in." His overly friendly attitude is jarring, considering his criminal element and I blink as he waves us in like we're old pals.

Edward holds on to me tightly as we follow him through the door into a small living room where a TV in the corner is blaring loudly. He locks the door before moving around to stand in front of us. "So cool, you guys are in need of some travelling papers, yeah?" He sits down on a peeling leather recliner and nods towards a brunette sitting on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket. "That's Alice. You guys want a beer or something?"

I can tell Edward is wary and on high alert, but with a nudge from me accepts, so Alice gets up to get the drinks. Once she's in the kitchen, Edward turns to Jasper. "We have what you asked for," he says, in what seems to be an attempt to hurry things along and he goes to reach into his pocket.

Jasper lights a cigarette and snorts, "Hold up bro, chill…yeah? We got time. My shit ain't goin' nowhere. Have a beer with me. Let's make friends."

"I don't make friends," Edward replies, but Jasper seems to find that funny and doesn't get offended.

"That's alright; I'm friendly enough for the both of us." He grins and scratches his bare stomach.

Alice comes back in holding four beers, and we take them as she gestures for us to sit on the other end of the couch, settling herself back in her spot. "So where y'all from?" she asks.

Edward and I stare at her in confused silence, as surely she must know in their line of work that we're not going to reveal anything. She starts cackling at what I'm sure is our disbelieving faces, and Jasper joins in.

"That there would be some work-related comedy." He points at Alice with his finger pointed like a gun and pretends to shoot. He turns back at us and grins again, showing the gap in his mouth.

I just sit dumbly while Edward stares at the two of them. He takes a cigarette Jasper offers and lights it, exhaling the smoke out into the room. Edward's hand doesn't let up on the death grip he has on my thigh as we sip our beers. I look around the house, inconspicuously trying to detect if Jasper and Alice are hoarding crackheads in a dingy room full of mattresses somewhere. All seems pretty normal; there's a small fireplace with a mantle holding pictures, bookshelves are filled with figurines, and the only drug I see is the pot Alice pulls out of a box on the table.

I watch her roll a joint and when she finishes, she offers some to Edward, but he vehemently shakes his head no. He tells them he never touches the stuff, and I wonder why he's so intense about it, trying to recall if he'd ever mentioned using before. I suddenly remember him saying he was out getting high when Katie was attacked. He squeezes my leg at the same time as that thought occurs to me, and I realize he won't let his guard down in a situation like this where I'm involved, and it makes me want to crawl into his body and stay there forever.

Alice motions to me and I'm curious to try it, but I just say no, following his lead. I don't need to make Edward any more on edge than he seems to be. She doesn't offer it to Jasper, and she just shrugs and lights up, turning back to the TV. The smell is heady, and I wonder if I'll get a contact high.

Jasper tries to engage a reluctant Edward in some small talk about cars, which seems to be a passion of his, while Alice smokes and watches the TV. They seem nice enough, but I don't really say anything to anybody as we sit and wait for Jasper to be ready to do what we came for. I'm starting to wonder when that might be, and I can tell from Edward's increasingly short answers that he's getting antsy.

The local news begins its broadcast and I tense on instinct, even though I know there hasn't been any news on us for a few days. When she's leaning over to place the joint in the ashtray, she notices my concentration towards the TV but doesn't comment, just looks at me curiously before turning away and taking a sip of her beer.

"So, what is it exactly that you're in need of, my friend? You need the usual, yeah?" Jasper asks, finally deciding it's time for business.

Edward stubs out his second cigarette into the overflowing ashtray and nods. "Passports for both and a driver's license for her," he nods in my direction.

"You don't need one?" Jasper asks curiously and just as Edward is about to answer that he has one, my name is broadcast loud and clear throughout the room and his mouth shuts tight.

Both Edward and I turn to the TV instantly, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jasper turn to see what's pulled our attention away from him.

My eyes widen as that stupid high school picture comes up of me, and I glance quickly to the strangers in the room. I see the moment Alice and Jasper make the connection, as they both sit up a bit straighter, and I notice Edward starts to slide his hand in his pocket.

I'm on edge, ready to run, but the seconds tick by as we sit there silently, watching the report in its entirety. The newscaster describes the slaying of a liquor store owner in Montgomery, Alabama, which they now believe is tied to the murders in both Georgia and Florida. They show the same video footage of the Piggly Wiggly, the drawings of Edward's parents, the info on my mother, and once again, the recording of my father that makes my stomach knot. There's new footage of a gathering at what looks like my trailer park, but I'm too stunned to even laugh at that as I realize the search for me has been intensified and broadened.

The news breaks for a commercial and it feels like forever until Alice and Jasper turn their heads towards Edward and me. I hear an imaginary clock ticking in my head, the seconds going by as my imagination comes up with any number of scenarios in which Edward will let this play out. I'm guessing it won't be with a friendly handshake and a 'nice knowing you'.

Jasper is the first to speak, and he does so slowly like he's talking to a child or a wild animal. "Is he holding you against your will?" he directs his question towards me but cocks his head towards Edward.

"Don't you…don't you talk to her!" Edward's voice is shaking as he snaps. "Fuck! I'm not fucking holding her against her will!" I put my hand on his arm to calm him down before things get out of control. His nails are digging into my thigh and I can feel them leaving marks through the denim.

Jasper holds his hands up in a surrendering gesture. "Hey man, I just want to know if the little lady is alright." He focuses on me, searching for any sign that I might be in distress.

Edward stands quickly and I see Alice shrink back into the couch. "I said she's fine." Edward's hand is still in his pocket, he hasn't drawn his knife out yet, but it doesn't mean he's not about to. If these two call the cops on us, we won't get five miles down the road. We can't just leave at this point.

My mind races for a moment, trying to figure out another way out of this without more violence, and I stand to face Edward, soothing him with a calm voice. "Sangre. Shhh. We need those passports. Let me handle this." I run my hand down the side of Edward's face so he looks at me, and I see his mind flying, fighting with his instincts to protect me. I don't think he's going to let me take over so I keep stroking his cheek until I see his mouth turn slightly into a frown. He nods faintly, telling me to continue.

I turn back to Jasper and Alice, inhaling deeply before I launch into our story and why I'm not a kidnap victim as they are reporting. I tell them everything, starting with the attempted rape by Mike Fucking Newton, how I was the one that killed him as well as the liquor store guy because he was going to take Edward from me, and try to convey as best I can about how Edward and I need to be together, have only ever had each other, and how miserable our lives were until we found one another. It's a tough sell, I know, but when I see Alice's eyes take on a romantic haze, I think I got her. At certain points while I speak, I can feel Edward's body tense under the hand that's still on his arm, but he restrains himself and keeps his knife tucked away until I'm done.

I take a deep breath as I finish my story. "The only reason anyone got killed besides Mike was because they were trying to keep us apart. I would strongly suggest you don't do that. I won't leave Edward's side alive and he will never leave mine." Jasper and Alice look at each other briefly, then turn back to me. Before I let them say anything, I lower my voice, and stare them both down. "It won't be Edward that will make you regret that you didn't believe us. It'll be me."

Looking between the pair to see if their faces reveal their thoughts, Alice seems intrigued, but Jasper still looks wary.

Edward bends down and picks up the cordless phone lying on the coffee table and hands it to me. He pulls the knife out of his pocket, drops it on the table and sits back down on the couch, lighting a cigarette. "We have two witnesses here," he says while nodding towards Alice and Jasper. "If you've been abducted," he turns to me, "call the police. These two will keep you safe until they arrive to rescue you and arrest me." He sits back casually on the sofa like he's just there to shoot the shit on a Sunday afternoon.

I sit next to him and put the phone back where it was. Jasper and Alice watch me for a moment before Jasper stands, sliding his hands down his face and over his belly, scratching at an itch, before slapping his palms together and rubbing them back and forth.

"Let's go conduct some business then, yeah?"

* * *

Things after that go smoothly. Jasper takes us downstairs into the basement where he's got a whole setup of computers and camera equipment. He hooks us up with two passports and two Texas driver's licenses, advising Edward to ditch his other one as it will be easier for us if we come from the same state. Alice makes us some food, and as we eat I get the feeling she's secretly fascinated by Edward's and my doomed romance, because she asks questions like a girl at a slumber party talking about boys. There are no rings on her fingers so I don't know if they're married or not, but I don't ask.

Edward finally relaxes enough that he's no longer feeling the need to hold onto me, which he did the entire time we were downstairs. The two seem to be getting along pretty well, talking about their mutual business acquaintance, the guy that hooked us up with him. It's an odd thing to see Edward interact with someone other than me that he doesn't feel threatened by, and he gets very animated when Jasper starts talking about how he got started with what he does while growing up in Texas. I watch Edward curiously, as his face changes as Jasper throws names around, wondering exactly what it might be that Edward's searching for in the conversation. I guess it's possible Jasper has come across some of the same people his folks knew, but I don't hear anything in particular that means anything to me.

Alice and Jasper offer us refuge at their house for the night, saying it's safer than trying to get a motel if the news has become more dramatized and vocal about us. It takes a long time to convince Edward that they're not going to turn us in, but I finally get him to see their point. Their house is far off the map, tucked away from any major roads and I remind him that these are two people who do not want to draw attention to their situation either. We're safer with two other criminals than we are alone. Edward insists on bringing the shotgun inside, and Jasper agrees, but lets Edward know that he has his own firepower so he shouldn't get too trigger happy in the middle of the night. It's like watching two kids trust each other with their toys…one eye kept on the other.

I yawn as we sit around the coffee table for a while, the long day catching up to me as the hour gets later and later. I sit on the floor next to Edward's feet, my head lazily resting against his knee and run my finger over my new license, identifying me as Marie Cullen, age twenty-one. Smiling, I look up at Edward who's watching me intently from his position above me on the couch. I confirm when he asks me that yes, being a Cullen is all I want to be, forever.

His penetrating eyes have me trapped in their web like they always do, and he calls over to Jasper, who's sitting in his recliner nursing a beer.

Edward's fingers trail over my hair until they come to rest, rubbing lightly on my neck. "We need one more thing."

* * *

The sheriff's office is alive with activity as deputies and secretaries speak to Alabama law enforcement and try to field nosy calls from the public and the press.

Sherriff Tate tries to calm Charlie, who is wondering if he shouldn't be out on the road, looking for his daughter himself, regardless of what her intent might be. There's no question the situation she's got herself in is escalating in violence, and he fights with himself to go get her against her will. He rejoices and curses the fact that he got her fingerprinted when she was eleven as part of the countywide safety campaign.

"What are you gonna do, Charlie?" the Sheriff asks, holding a hand out to try to reign his distraught employee in. "Drive up and down the highways yelling 'Bella'? We have no idea where she is at this moment."

"Well, we sure as hell know she was in Alabama and not the fucking Bahamas, don't we?" He pulls his hand across his mustache, taking deep breaths knowing that yelling at his boss won't help anything.

Sheriff Tate hitches his belt and looks at Charlie sympathetically. "All we know is she was in the bathroom, and is hopefully uninjured. You need to stay here and see if she reaches out to you. Maybe she'll get away and find a phone. You need to have patience, and trust that we're working closely with the Alabama state police on this new crime scene."

The words make Charlie cringe, and he sits down heavily in the folding chair set up next to the coffee station. He nods, agreeing to wait for a call he knows will never come.

* * *

_**The Sinners Are Coming  
March 4, 2014  
Se7en Stories from Se7en  
of the  
Twilight Fandom's Most Sinful  
Will You Follow?**_

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Brighter, Appease, Venture by Rochelle Allison**

NEW FICTIONISTA WORKSHOP WITFITS: APRIL 2012 - JUNE 2012. started with Brighter. Continued with Appease. Finishing with Venture. (no summary here on what each is about, but do you need to worry? It's Rochelle Allison! My personal fave is Brighter)

* * *

_**As always, thank you to Carrie ZM and LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Remember, reviews make me happy!**_


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

_**He was a monster, black dressed in leather  
**__**She was a princess, Queen of the Highway  
**__**Now they are wedded, she is a good girl  
**__**Naked as children out in a meadow  
**__**Naked as children, wild as can be**_

**- "Queen of the Highway", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

I marry Edward on a Monday afternoon in May, standing in front of Alice and Jasper's mantle wearing my black mini dress from Wal-Mart and holding the bouquet of wildflowers Alice picked from the backyard.

The mayor of Natchez, Mississippi is a crooked client of Jasper's, and he comes to the brick house and signs the marriage license Jasper requested without blinking an eye. He never questions the fact that our ID's have the same last name or that we call each other Edward and Bella the whole time. We're both listed as twenty-one, but he doesn't ask for any proof of that with birth certificates.

I shut everyone in the room out as I focus on Edward while we stand in front of the mayor, flanked by Alice and a still shirtless Jasper, who are standing up as our witnesses. The ceremony is quick and to the point, but no less important than any hour-long church service would be to Edward and me.

When we repeat to each other the words 'til death do us part', the enormity of what we've just pledged makes my knees buckle. We grasp our joined hands tighter, our eyes meeting and locking urgently in awareness.

We both know just how true those vows could become.

We're pronounced husband and wife, and as I whisper 'sangre' onto Edward's lips, I kiss my spouse with every ounce of life I have in me.

* * *

After the mayor leaves, I remember the disposable camera in our bag and Alice takes a few pictures of us as newlyweds. Edward even gets silly and picks me up bridal style, grinning down at me as I look up at him while Alice snaps away.

Once we're ready to say our goodbyes, Jasper asks Edward if he knows how to use the shotgun and if he has extra ammunition. Edward being Edward gets irritated and says of course, but Jasper tilts his head in a doubtful gesture and turns to me, telling me he has ammo and a field way out back they use for target practice. I agree immediately, wanting to learn how to use it properly if I need to, unsure of what might lie before us.

We follow Jasper and Alice's truck down a long dirt road for a while, until we hit a grouping of trees where we pull off to the left. We back our truck up next to his, both of our tailgates facing the meadow. Edward and I watch as Jasper pulls out two guns similar to ours and places them on the open gate of his truck bed.

Box upon box of ammo comes out of Alice's purse, and Jasper loads one of his guns and asks me if I know how to load mine. I wrestle with telling the truth and accepting help, finally shaking my head no.

I clutch the stolen shotgun in my hand and follow Jasper to where he leads, a few feet away by a fallen, hollowed tree trunk that's nestled in the grass.

He takes my gun from me and teaches as he goes, yanking the latch that opens the barrel, and pulling the two pieces apart. There's one round already in it, so he reaches into his ammo stash and puts two more shells in, explaining what I have is a Smith and Wesson 20 gauge, and the shells he's using are 3 inch Magnums.

Alice, in the meantime, has run across the field and is setting up what looks like various types of recyclables on a log. I see soda cans, a milk jug, and some glass bottles all lined up and ready to be blown sky high.

"Ok now, darlin'. First thing you do is pull back the hammer," he shows me this by pulling the wood piece down the shaft of the gun until it makes that heavy, catching sound. He looks at me pointedly. "Do not put your finger on the trigger until you are ready to shoot, yeah?" With that advice, he hands me the weapon and I raise it up, getting ready to try it.

Jasper looks past me and shouts over to Edward. "Can I touch her shoulder, man?" He grins and Edward scowls at his sarcasm, but nods. Jasper places his hand on me and puts the gun up against my bicep. "You need to place the butt of the gun up against your shoulder, right by your armpit, and fix your stance." He shows me how to put my feet shoulder width apart, with my knees relaxed, so that I'm standing comfortably but firmly on the ground. "The recoil is a bitch," he adds. "Okay, now that on the end of the barrel is called the 'bead'." He says, pointing out the raised, metal point at the end. "That's what you use to aim. What's your shooting eye?" he asks, and I just shrug.

He laughs at me. "Stick one finger out in front of your face." I do so, and he continues. "Now shut one eye, and then the other, and see which eye sees the finger in the right place."

I do what he says a few times, figuring when my finger doesn't move out of my line of sight with my left eye open that I've got it nailed. He stands behind me as I hold the handle of the gun on my right shoulder. I narrow my eye and look down the barrel of the shotgun. He tells me to concentrate on my target, to see it in my head, and when I'm ready to squeeze the trigger.

I take a big breath, hold it, and when on my exhale, I squeeze. My upper body is jerked back by the weight of the backfire while I watch as milliseconds later, the plastic milk jug jumps and flies from its place on the stump.

"Woohoo! Yeah!" Jasper yells with a fist raised as I hear Alice clap. I look at the spot I aimed for, grinning wildly. "You're a natural, sweetheart." I smile at Jasper before turning to where Edward is leaning on the gate of the truck, his arms crossed and his face beaming at me.

"I wanna do it again!" I say, and Jasper tells me to aim for a can. I cock the hammer and the spent shell flies out of the gun, landing by my feet, before I aim once more. I get the Coke can on the second try.

Jasper takes out his rifle and shoots a few, nailing the targets each time before Alice takes a turn. She's not as spot on, and I wonder if it's not because of the weed she's been smoking the whole time we've been out here. We take turns shooting for a while until the targets are all wasted.

"I've got plenty of ammo for that." Jasper nods towards my shotgun. "I think you should probably take some with you," he says to us and Edward agrees. Jasper winks at me. "A little wedding present."

After Alice runs out on the field and refills the targets, Edward takes a few turns, shooting well, before he hands it back to me, where I practice loading the shotgun and firing a few more times.

As I shoot, I get used to the recoil and am able to control my body a bit more. I'm completely unprepared on my next shot, however, when my body hits firm muscle as I lurch back slightly. I'm so focused that I didn't notice Edward had been inching close behind me, and as I lean against him, his body heat radiates against my back more than the summer sun ever could. His hands snake up my hips to my waist as he whispers in my ear for me to shoot again. I raise the shotgun and blow a whiskey bottle away in a shattering explosion. Edward makes a guttural sound, and the feel of his breath on my neck while I hold the gun is too much stimulus. I give in to the feel of him and relax my grip on the gun. When his lips hit my neck, I'm done for, and I lower the end of the shotgun until it's hitting the ground. It's just me and Edward and guns in a big open field. A field filled with wildflowers and that sense of intoxicating madness that always seems to surround us.

"I guess we're done here." I hear Jasper say faintly as his voice breaks through the foggy web Edward creates in my brain. I turn to see Alice and Jasper walking towards their truck, and I'm stricken with a foreign feeling. A feeling of goodbye that for once causes sadness instead of relief.

Alice catches my eye and waves, putting her finger to her lips to blow a kiss my way, before hoisting herself into the passenger seat. It's the closest I've ever been to having a girlfriend, and I don't know what to do so I just wave. I don't move to hug Jasper when he and Edward shake hands, as it feels awkward even though he's right next to me and I have the strange urge to do so. We say our farewells, and Edward and I stand there while they back up and turn in the weeds. They travel down the dirt road we came on; turning into a blue spot engulfed in the dust they've kicked up around them as we watch them go.

Gun still in hand; I turn to Edward, who takes it from me silently and leans it against the truck. Without a word, he picks me up and lifts me onto the opened gate of the pickup.

He stands in the calf high grass, staring at me, before he leans over and plucks a bunch of wild flowers from their stems. He gently placing one behind my ear with a brush of his hand to my face then adds a few more around my head like a crown.

"You're it for me, Mrs. Cullen. You're mine. Forever."

His fingertips cause shockwaves through me and my hands roam up his sides, feeling the taut muscle as they slide underneath the Doors shirt he married me in mere hours ago. Edward leans in for a kiss, and I give up my lips easily, opening and welcoming his tongue inside. His body moves closer between us where my legs are splayed on the truck bed, my dress hitching dangerously up before he pulls back, just inches from my face. His hands grasp either side of my neck, squeezing, rubbing in circles, until one hand leaves me and reaches down to free himself from his pants. I instinctively scoot down closer to him, my body yearning to touch his while my feet help push the denim down his legs, exposing him quickly before he nestles against me, hot and hard.

Heaven opens and the earth tilts as he whispers against my lips so fervently, I feel what he feels. "There are no words, Bella…Marie, whoever you are. I fucking breathe only because of you." He kisses me lightly, before he speaks again, "There's no going back, there's no end unless it's forced upon us."

And then he says that word.

"Love." His eyes move back and forth between mine, searching. "Love isn't big enough for what we are."

The air swirls dizzyingly around me and I shake my head. No, it's not.

I snake my arms up his ribcage, touching the skin under his arms, to grasp his upper back. I pull him to me so that my face is buried against his chest, trying to anchor myself to this world. I squeeze my eyes tight and barely manage to find my voice. "The only way I'm leaving you is if I die."

I feel him line himself up against me before his hand resumes its hold back on my neck, re-joining the other and lifting my head. He presses his forehead against mine, his breath ghosting over my face. "You won't die. You _can't_ die. In my blood, you live forever."

And with that, Edward pushes himself into me. The buzz of the insects and the rustling sound of the reeds around us underlie my sharp intake of breath as I wrap my arms around my husband's shoulders. This is the only kind of consummation I could imagine for us. Raw, needy…almost desperate. I'm overwhelmed by the feelings I have for this boy, this man who turned my life upside down in the best possible way. There's more love in me for him than anything or anyone I've ever known.

Edward moves in and out of me, his hands on my neck holding me in a possessive grip. His thumbs slide into the hair behind my ears, rubbing circles and tangling themselves there, pulling. I can feel the muscles in his back contracting and pulsing with every stroke of his cock in me, filling me so completely that I imagine we're one entity. I pull my hands out from under his shirt and move them to his head, pulling his face to mine to kiss him and breathe my love into his body. When I pull back, his eyes are bright and alive and oh, so green.

The green of the grass that surrounded us when we first ate lunch together in another life. The green of pastures I learned to drive in on a carefree afternoon. The green of money we've earned through death and violence to give us this life we're searching for, and as I stare into the beauty of my husband's eyes, I find myself in awe.

Unbelieving that this perfectly imperfect man loves me, that he wants me, that he married me.

Edward looks down the slope of our bodies, and I follow his gaze, watching where we're bound, our bodies loving and connecting while the sun basks us in its rays.

I picture Mother Nature, God, whatever entity is up there, looking down on us in these badlands we've been travelling through, and I can only imagine they're giving us their silent approval in the form of sangre, sex, and each other. Nothing is as perfect as this.

"I don't want to come. I don't want it to end," I gasp, full of Edward, full of being.

Edward shifts his hands to hold my face, the green still burning me. "It'll never end, it'll never go away. It's us. Forever."

And we rock like that, staring at each other on our wedding day. The best wedding day anyone's ever had, in the tall grass and hot sun of a wondrous, Mississippi afternoon.

* * *

Charlie holds the unopened beer in his hand, cold and frosty, watching the condensation forming on the sides of the silver can.

Emmett McCarty sits across from him, sipping his with no trouble, before Charlie places the beer down on the table, untouched.

"How dangerous could this guy be, Em?" Charlie asks, quickly putting his hands in his pockets to not tempt him further.

Emmett laughs, unsure of the answer. "That's a broad question, Charlie. Just cause I was on the inside doesn't know I know what this guy is capable of."

Charlie sighs, his shoulders slumping in a gesture that feels like second nature by now. "I know. I just… don't know what to do."

Rosalie places a plate of chicken and rice in front of him and he looks up quickly with a grin of thanks, before looking down at the plate he has no taste for.

"If what Rosalie says is true," Emmett starts slowly, knowing the fragility of the man sitting exposed in front of him, "if she left of her own free will cause she loves him, she's gone, dude." He pauses, before continuing. "Besides, you shouldn't want her to come back if she's guilty of this shit anyway."

Emmett takes a bite of his food, chewing a moment before swallowing and pointing his fork at Charlie. "Maybe he's nuts about her too, if he's willing to kill for her. That's something, right? Like Bonnie and Clyde." Emmett smiles crookedly, trying to lighten up the mood.

"That didn't end too well for them, now did it," Charlie says and looks at his neighbors, the only source of comfort he's found these past two weeks, and then over to the three kids playing on the floor.

What a shitty father he was, he thinks.

"I just want her to be happy," he pauses, and voices out loud what he's just admitted to himself for the first time. "Lord knows she didn't learn what happiness is from her mother and me. If she's found what she needs with this Edward guy," he swallows, his throat tight. "Then yeah, I can only hope he loves her enough to keep her safe."

Rosalie takes the unopened beer from in front of him and replaces it with an orange soda. Putting a hand on his shoulder, she speaks motherly and lovingly. "Maybe she's destined to live a longer, happier life with him no matter how they're doing it. A better life than she would have, if she were to be here with us."

They fall into silence as Rosalie sits and they resume eating, the only sound the clinking of silverware on plates.

* * *

_* Thank you to Hoodfabulous for her shotgun knowledge!_

* * *

**The Sinners are coming tomorrow…  
**_**Come Find Me!**_

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Look How You Turned Out by counselor**

If I was going to write another story it would be something like this...

* * *

_**As always, thank you to Carrie ZM and LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Remember, reviews make me happy!**_


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

_**Girl ya gotta love your man  
**__**Girl ya gotta love your man  
**__**Take him by the hand  
**__**Make him understand  
**__**The world on you depends  
**__**Our life will never end  
**__**Gotta love your man, yeah**_

**- "Riders on the Storm", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

It's around dinnertime when we cross over into Texas, the late afternoon making the temperature a bit cooler, but the low sun still coats the air with that saturated glow that makes everything seem surreal, like it's been put through a fancy camera filter.

I'm hungry so Edward has pulled into yet another convenience store to get us some food. They're all starting to run together in my head. The same newspaper stands, the same stale hot dog rotisseries, the same overly used coffee stations make them all interchangeable.

My new best friend Mr. Shotgun is beside me once again as I hang out in the back of the old pickup. Without air conditioning, the cab is too stuffy for me to stay in long even with the windows down. I finger the frayed hem of my cutoffs, which I made earlier when I hacked apart a pair of jeans with Edward's favorite knife while we were driving.

There's a fair amount of foot traffic in the parking lot, as we're right across from what seems to be a high school. I can see the doors from my vantage point, tucked away next to the side of the building, and kids are coming and going. Some are carrying instrument cases or looking as if they've come from some sort of sporting practice and are in need of snacks and drinks before heading to wherever they live. I keep the gun out of sight because I'm getting a few curious looks from these kids, most likely trying to remember if they've ever seen my face in class with them.

I see a wisp of a girl about thirteen exit the store, her shoulders hunched and carrying her books in front of her like a shield. My heart flutters and stammers as I watch her walk; her stringy hair covers her face while she looks down at the concrete.

The girl could be me. Well, in the life formerly known as mine. My heart aches for her even though I don't know her. I see two boys of about the same age following behind her shortly after she's passed the ice machine, and I can tell they're trying to talk to her. From her stiff, rapid walk I'm immediately guessing that she isn't enjoying their attention.

I slouch a little so they don't see me, because they're headed in my direction and I want to hear what they're saying. I keep my eyes on her for any sign of laughter or something telling me my instincts are wrong and that she's just playing along with them.

"You're a dyke, Claudine, just like your carpet munching sister." Loud laughing comes from one of the boys, a pimply kid with a crew cut, and the look of pain on the girl's face makes my stomach twist. It's obvious this is not the first interaction she's had with these two, and I feel nauseous as the not too distant memories flood over me.

"Go to hell. Just leave me alone," she spits back, the trembling in her voice making them taunt her more. I close my eyes tight, willing her to fight back forcefully and not show them how they affect her.

"You know, I could help you with that. I could stick my cum gun in your mouth so you can see what you're missing." That comes from the other kid, his sunburned face sneering and disgusting, and I want to kick him in that 'cum gun' he wants to use so badly.

As soon as they've turned the corner, she speeds up, heading towards a grassy hill that leads to what looks like a residential street. Before she can get halfway there, Sunburn jogs around and stops her in her tracks. She tries to back away, but Crew Cut is on her other side, boxing her in.

The look of panic on her face almost makes me cry. My head starts pounding and shuddering in black fury, and before I know it, I'm standing in the truck bed with my sneakered foot perched on the edge, and the shotgun clutched tight in my grip. I cock the weapon with force to make it as loud as possible.

The three kids immediately turn and all sets of eyes widen as they look towards me, their stares fixated on the end of the barrel that I'm looking down, aimed right at them.

"I'm guessing you'll want to rethink whatever it is you're planning to do," I say, and I grin internally when I see both boys' expression turn to fear and the sudden wet spot currently seeping through Sunburn's jeans.

"Claudine," I continue, "use your phone and take a picture of your friend here. Make sure to email it to me and your sister." Claudine fumbles in her pocket to produce her phone and takes a few quick snaps of the boy with the pee spreading down his leg. "Get on home now, I'll keep these two busy. Say 'hi' to your sister for me." Without moving my aim from the boys, I hitch my eyes in her direction and see a small smile dancing on her face, her features melting into immediate relief.

"Will do…Jen," she says, playing along and pretending to know me before she turns and tries to walk quickly without running over the grass towards the hill. I watch her get far enough away and turn my eyes back to the boys, still in position with their faces white.

"Okay, so here's how it's going to go. You're going to leave my friend Claudine alone. In fact, you're going to leave any girl you ever see alone, or I will hunt you down and cut off your flaccid, tiny dicks and stuff them in your mouths. Whaddya say?"

Before I can even threaten them anymore, they both nod quickly and start to run.

"I know where you live, you little pieces of shit!" I yell after them, lowering the shotgun and cupping my hand over my mouth to make my voice travel farther.

I hear him before I see him. "Jesus, I can't leave you alone for a minute." I look down and realize that Edward's returned, apple in hand and grinning at me. I sigh and move to the side of the truck where he's standing.

"It was high school all over again. I just couldn't let them…" I trail off and kneel in the bed, my shaky hands grasping the edge. Edward immediately puts his hand on my neck, squeezing and rubbing his thumb across my throat as I swallow.

He leans in and his lips press to mine forcefully. "You are ferocious, Bella. No one is ever going to fuck with you." Edward moves his hand to mine and pulls, helping me climb down. He shakes his head, and snorts. "Shit, I think you've ruined erections for those two for a while." He takes the gun from me and places it back into the gun rack.

"Good." I try to smile, and grab his face to kiss him quickly before jumping up onto the hot leather seat of the truck.

Edward closes my door and sticks his face in the open window. "I'm serious. I mean, I'm psychotic, and even _I'm_ starting to get a little scared of you." His eyes dance with humor and he quickly skirts away from my hand, which darts out in search of a target. His laugh follows him as he moves around the truck to take his place at my side.

* * *

Edward seems determined to drive as long as possible, and I've noticed over the past four hours his attitude has shifted, to one of escalating agitation the closer we get to San Antonio. I don't know if he's tired, having flashbacks of his time in foster care in Texas, or if he's just antsy to get this all over with and get to Mexico.

He's been chain smoking, chucking the empty packs into the backseat where I gather them up so we don't leave things with fingerprints everywhere, throwing them into the garbage bag we've amassed at my feet.

I tell him we need to stop for the night, that there's nothing we're going to be able to do meth-wise until tomorrow. As far as I know, he hasn't been in contact with anyone. He checks his phone when I say this and flips out on me when he sees his phone has died, and I can't immediately find his charger in our bag. Once it's plugged into the cigarette lighter in the old truck, he calms down when I check and tell him he hasn't missed a call.

It's the first time he's ever shown anger towards me and I stare at him wide-eyed. He apologizes profusely, making excuses that he's tired, but I don't buy it. I don't get upset though, knowing in my gut I'm not the reason for his tension, and he finally finds us a motel to hole up in.

Edward paces the floor instead of joining me in bed, and from my spot leaning against the pillows, I watch as he glides over the faded blue carpet, continuously pulling at his hair. When it gets to be full on annoying, I get up and forcefully push him down so he's sitting on the bed.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?" I ask, my words more worried than harsh. I run my hand over his hair trying to pat it back to its less frantic, normal disarray. He finally looks at me and his body folds in on itself. His head rests against my stomach as I stand in front of him, and I feel his long exhale of breath skim my bare thighs.

"Tell me," I whisper as his hands ghost up my legs to hold onto my hips.

He clears his throat roughly. "It's just…being here. I haven't been in San Antonio since that night. This is where we lived."

"The night in the foster home?" My hand continues its caress against his silky, copper strands.

"No. The last time I saw my parents. We lived about a half a mile away from here."

Shock causes me to inhale quickly at the fact that I never even wondered what town he'd been raised in, been taken from, and here we are smack dab in the middle.

He still hasn't raised his head to look at me and says nothing for a long while, sighing as I continue to stroke him. He laughs suddenly against me. "Did I ever tell you they sent me to a nuthouse?"

My hand falters, and I hope he doesn't notice. "What?"

A deep, guttural sound escapes his throat, and the crazy in him I love so much when I look in his eyes is now spreading its vines to mingle with his voice. "After I stabbed that prick for hurting…Katie, they sent me away for 'evaluation'. I was there for a long time, Bella. It's why I'm older than you. It's why I was behind in school when I got to my uncle's."

I close my eyes at his words, my heart hurting for him while my mind fights itself to remember that this is my Edward, and I already knew he wasn't quite right. This info shouldn't surprise or scare me.

"Well, they had to figure out what happened, make sure you weren't going to hurt yourself or anyone else," I try to rationalize.

I feel his head shake against my body, disagreeing. "That's not why I was there in the end. I made a stupid mistake and trusted the wrong person. I told someone my parents weren't dead. I wasn't supposed to tell, but I was fifteen and thought if they could find my parents, it'd all be okay. Even though I was there because of that fucking cocksucker, they decided to keep me because they thought I was delusional on top of having anger issues. They said it was impossible for them to be alive based on the police reports they requested and examined. No one believed me."

I don't know if I do either, but I don't tell him that, I just let him keep talking. "My uncle finally showed up and he told me if I let them think I finally accepted it, they'd let me out. I was happy to have someone that might be able to help me. Yeah I got out and returned to the system, but it took him another two years to come get me. That was the second time I trusted someone," he laughs bitterly.

"Edward, look at me." I pull his chin hard, fighting his resistance, until his clouded eyes meet mine. "Only you were there, right? Only you know. But if they _are_ dead, if you're beginning to have a tiny bit of doubt that they're not alive, you can tell me. You _have _to tell me. I'm the third and final person you ever have to give your trust to."

"They're alive." Edward swallows hard, the sound thick in the air as I see his mind work. "At least, they didn't die in that fire." His eyes shift and widen slightly when I look at him with encouragement. "Am I supposed to…think…am I supposed to think it's possible they're not alive now for some reason? I don't know."

I search his eyes a moment, seeing a scared ten-year old in them hiding within the black outlines, before I lean down to kiss him. His lips are soft yet unmoving under mine, but they don't resist.

"I'll be with you no matter what we find out." I say, carefully hopeful. It's possible that they did survive that fire like he claims. It's also possible that if they did, they might not be where they promised to wait for him so long ago. I think it's a good sign that there's a tiny fissure of doubt that's forming in his brain, that there might be an alternate ending than the one he's planned. Perhaps it won't devastate him completely if they're nowhere to be found once we get to wherever it is we're going.

If they did die when he was a boy, however, and he's been in straight up, mindfuck denial all these years, well, I just don't know what to think about that mess, so I push it away and push him down.

We lay there, wrapped in each other until my mind starts going over the day's events, and it all clicks in place.

His interest in people Jasper knew, his increasing agitation and chain smoking, and the reason that we got our IDs and passports together before this next deal. It all adds up.

"Edward, this drop off," I squeeze my hand into a ball on his shirt, clutching it tightly, "It's him, isn't it?"

He nods, and I close my eyes in resolve. "This is going to be ugly."

"He fucked up my life, Bella."

I don't voice that it's his parents that caused all the damage to him, not some lunatic drug dealer. Instead, I just kiss him until we're naked and panting, completely unaware of anything but us, just as it should be.

I cover his body with mine; protecting, blanketing, and I feel him respond to me as I slither over him. I coax my Edward back from his despair and hatred, and turn it into the passion that's never far away.

I ride him hard, wanting him to take out all of his pent up aggression on me, to use my body as a release for his aching, chaotic mind. He pushes and pulls me tirelessly, my hips and ribcage throbbing with the power of his hands on me, until I feel him come forcefully inside my willing body.

I give him all of me and vow to myself that I'll shelter him from whatever demons we uncover.

I remain on top of him, with him still inside, as my hair surrounds us and keeps my voice enclosed in our bubble. "Do you really need to do this?" I ask quietly, "We can just leave for Mexico tomorrow morning and forget all about him."

"I need to take away everything he took from me." He says slowly, with pure, dripping venom, and I do the only thing I can think of. I move on top of him again until he's hard once more, hoping to satiate his hate with my love.

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**A Litany at Dusk by duskwatcher2153**

Edward's been a solitary vampire, hunting on the edges of society. He rejoins his family in Forks, ready to abstain and runs across a young woman praying. A choice must be made between one's heart, one's desires and one's soul. Darkward ExB AU

* * *

**Secondary rec, a little self pimping here, forgive me:**

******SALIGIA by The Sinners**

Seven sinful one-shots from seven of the Twilight Fandom's most sinful. 

This is a fabulous compilation put together to celebrate Fat Tuesday! I was honored to be a part of such a great group of writers including:  
_**Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy**_, _**LayAtHomeMom**_, _**DazzledIn2008**_, _**SexiLexiCullen**_, _**JonesnDaHood**_ (Jonesn and Hoodfabulous), and _**GothicTemptress. **_Mine was "Lust"_**.**_

* * *

_**As always, thank you to Carrie ZM and LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Remember, reviews make me happy!**_


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

_**Before you slip into unconsciousness  
**__**I'd like to have another kiss  
**__**Another flashing chance at bliss  
**__**Another kiss, another kiss**_

**- "The Crystal Ship", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

I watch Edward closely the next morning while I stretch my sore limbs; I'm stiff and achy from letting him use my body in what I hope was restorative for his mind. I don't know if it excised all of his demons, but he seems to be better.

After a shared shower in the cramped bathroom, he left to get us some breakfast, and I'm now happily devouring pancakes and bacon, while he methodically cuts his apple and eats it the way he likes. His eyes are rimmed blacker than I've ever seen, but that seems to be the only part of him that's showing any hint of what lies before us today. He hasn't spoken about it or what he's hoping to accomplish, and I'm blissfully playing ignorant and keeping my mouth shut.

I watch him stick the blade up to his mouth and hear the crunch his teeth make against the fruit. "What's with all the apple love, anyway?" I smile; reminiscing about watching him from far away in the quad, a time in my life that seems so, so far gone, and I feel the butterflies once again.

His eyes shift to me and he hesitates, before swallowing his mouthful and answering. "There was a Golden Dorset tree in one of the…yards we…lived in at one point. My mother and I would pick one a day to eat together on the grass. I guess it's a habit now."

The casual fact about his mother surprises me, and it occurs to me we really haven't covered a lot of his childhood. I know the basics, but I don't know what his life was _really_ like. "Tell me about her," I ask softly, hoping to not set him off.

Edward's eyes brighten immediately. "She was pretty, she had my color hair and eyes. She was kind. Regardless of what they chose to do for a living, we were a family, a good one."

I let him sit in his memory, happy to wait for him to continue when he feels like it. I can see his mind moving, circling recollections, and picking out a favorite to share.

"We would go to this crazy waterslide park sometimes. My dad loved waterslides." He starts laughing; "I remember one time he flipped around on the really big slide by accident and his trunks got pulled down. Went down the whole slide bare-assed."

His grin is infectious, and I laugh. "Sounds like a good time."

"They weren't all bad, Bella." He puts his knife and apple down, and leans back in his seat. "What sticks out to me the most…I was never without them. They took me most places. Some, they shouldn't have, sure. But for the most part, we did everything together. My father taught me how to throw a football; my mother showed me what the different flowers in the park were. We ate most meals as a family, and they both tucked me in every night. I think I might've had a better fucking upbringing than most." He pauses, his eyes contemplative as he lights a cigarette and exhales. "Think about all the kids with parents that work constantly. Or ignore their kids by putting them in front of the goddamn TV to do the job they should be doing. Do you know how many kids I met in foster care that had absent parents? Raised by neighbors that shuttled them around when their parents didn't show up for days at a time? Fucking _too many_." He shakes his head; I'm sure he's remembering specific kids he spent time with.

"That's not gonna be us, Bella. Our kids aren't leaving us, ever."

I suck in air and choke immediately on the bacon in my throat. I gulp some coffee to wash it down, and stare at him.

"No?" he asks, quietly, almost defensively.

I sigh. "I won't be a good mother."

"What? Why? You fucking take care of me, and that ain't easy." His eyebrows wiggle at me and I can't help but chuckle.

I shrug one shoulder, thinking. "I didn't have what you had, Edward. My parents were shitty in a whole other way. I _was_ the kid that sat there and watched TV while they fought, or while my dad was working and my mom was off blowing god knows what dick. That was my childhood. I have nothing very good to say about it." I push my plate away and reach over for his hand, which he readily gives me. "You _did_ have a better childhood than me. Just because my parents didn't break laws doesn't mean they were better than yours. I'd have killed for attention, for love." I run my fingers across his rough knuckles, lost in thought.

"Your parents didn't love you?"

"HA! My mother? No. My mother loved herself. I was a burden. My dad, I guess he did, does. I don't know. It's been strained with us since my mom went ballistic."

"Well, you have me. That's all you need now."

"I do." I get up and straddle him in his chair. "We're married." I say, laughing incredulously, almost like I forgot.

"We should call the press." He kisses me on my throat and I tilt my head back, enjoying the feel of his warm, sticky lips on me. He grabs my hand and runs his fingers over mine. "I didn't even get you a ring. I suck."

My skin breaks out in goose bumps as his mouth moves over me. "Yes, yes you do. In all the right places."

* * *

Two hours later, I can't stop staring at the new tattoo on my left ring finger. 'Sangre' it says, in bold, curved red lettering. It's perfect. Better than a diamond. It's got oily gunk on it and Edward keeps telling me not to touch it, but I can't help it. I bounce in my seat as I look at the fresh one on his ring finger that matches mine. I'm too giddy to sit still. I feel like I did a few short weeks ago, when he stole me his aunt's hoodie and it was all I could do to not smash my face into it and inhale the thing right into my lungs.

I stop playing with my tattoo and put the maps and first aid kit I've been carrying from car to car into the squeaky glove compartment of our new ride, a horribly shitty convertible we just bought off of some guy in his driveway. Edward says it'll be safer to cross into Mexico in a car we actually own, so eight hundred bucks later, here we are, sitting on faded blue cloth seats. Jim is singing to us again and the top is down.

It's hot as hell here in San Antonio, and even with the breeze, I find myself turning the air conditioning towards my face. I haven't pointed out to Edward that I've noticed us going in circles. We've passed the same CVS Pharmacy four times now, going around and around the crappy homes that dot this part of town. The South Side, he calls it. I wonder if his last house was around here. Obviously, the actual house would be gone, but maybe he'd remember the lot it was on. Hell, maybe that's what we've been circling and he just hasn't said anything.

There's not much to see here. Harsh, iron fencing is erected around vacant lots, a mix of small homes that vary in upkeep; street corners with overflowing garbage bins dot the industrial area.

His phone isn't ringing, and he hasn't made any calls. As we drive, I'm getting increasingly nervous, wanting this to just be over with already. Finally, around the sixth time we pass the CVS, his phone comes to life. He snatches it up immediately and listens, hanging up after a quick 'yup' to whoever is on the other end.

"He's there," is all he says to me, and I have to assume he knows someone that's acting as informant, maybe a guy Jasper knew.

We drive across some train tracks and Edward pulls over on the left side of a one-way street with a few warehouse type buildings scattered around. About a half a block away, there's some sort of automotive shop, perfectly normal looking, except for the barbed wire that's on top of the fence surrounding the pavement. Edward's staring at it intently, scoping it out, his eyes shuffling around the scene before him. I watch the crazy edge in slightly, and regardless of the instinctual thrill that shoots through me when I see it, it's quickly followed by apprehension.

Edward's knee bobs up and down while he smokes two cigarettes in a row, flicking the ashes off the end nervously over the rim of the door. After about ten minutes of complete silence, he reaches in the back seat for our bag, and shakes out its contents onto the floor at my feet. "What are you doing?"

"It's too hot for my sweatshirt. I can't just carry the meth around in my hand." He snaps out at me, and I cower back against my door at his tone. He closes his eyes and runs his hand through his hair, inhaling and exhaling through his nose a few times. He reaches back again and digs around on the floor of the car, pulling the shotgun up and laying it across my lap. He quickly grabs two knives from the bundle at my feet and shoves one into the front of his waistband under his shirt and one in his sock, pulling his jeans back down to hide it.

"Fuck, I wish I'd bought a gun off Jasper. Stupid," he says to himself, shaking his head.

"We have the shotgun?" I question, and hold up the weapon.

"I can't take the shotgun in there, Bella. As soon as they see it, I'm dead." He says this so…nonchalantly; the word 'dead' almost doesn't register with me. We've been in dangerous situations for what feels like almost every day, but this one is different. This one is much, much bigger than both of us. This is about revenge, not escape.

My hands start to shake and I grab for him. I'm definitely not okay with this. "Edward. No. Let's not do this. He's not a threat. He doesn't know where you or your parents are. Besides, we have plenty of money. No more death, Edward, please." I plead, while he looks at me like he's looking through me. "Let's just forget it and go to Mexico right now, okay?" I pull on his hands trying to get him to turn the car around, but he just lets them fall.

"Bella, I have to. He made my parents think it wasn't safe for me to be with them."

"Your parents made that choice, Edward. Not him." He looks at me sharply and I try to take back the sting I just caused. "I'm worried. I'm worried this is too much for you. You haven't been yourself since we entered Texas. If he didn't really kill them as you say, then you _don't_ have to! Fuck!" I cry out and slam my hand down on the doorframe in a fit of despair

Finally, he realizes I'm more than just a little upset. "Shhh. Sangre, sweetheart. It'll be okay. I'll see you in a minute, and then we'll go have margaritas on the beach in Mexico. We'll be there by dinnertime." He pulls me over and kisses my head, "Stay in the car. Do not leave it, no matter what. You hear me? If you see anyone but me coming, get the hell out of here." He grabs me by the neck and kisses me quickly before he lets go and grabs the backpack, ready to leave the car.

"Fuck that, I'm going with you," I say, reaching for my door handle.

"The FUCK you are!" He shouts at me, and I cringe, tears welling up in my eyes.

Immediately, he's pulling me to him, cradling my head against his chest under his chin. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeats, his lips pressed firmly against my hair. "Just…just stay in the car Bella, okay? Just stay here and I'll be back before you know it. Easy as pie, okay?" He looks at me and grabs my hand, squeezing and trying to reassure me.

"No."

Edward looks at me in disbelief. I glare right back at him. "If you're going in there Edward, if you're going in there and are okay with dying, well you're not doing it without me."

Before I can say anything else, he curses loudly and moves the car to pull it within the fenced-in lot, close to some open garage doors. "You stay in the fucking car, you hear me?" I nod, appeased at my proximity, and he shakes his head, slamming the door shut. I watch him walk, like he's in slow motion, across the lot and away from the safety of this car. I can't take my eyes off of him, and right before he enters the workspace his shoulders roll, getting his body tight, and he disappears around the entrance and out of my sight.

I look around the area and notice it's practically deserted. There aren't any mechanics or customers around like there should be for a Tuesday at noon. Chills break out on my skin, and I randomly remember something I heard Mrs. McCarty say once when we were hanging out in her trailer one afternoon.

She was giving me gossip and feeding one of the babies, holding the bottle while the baby was nestled in the crook of her arm. She came to an abrupt halt in her conversation and visibly shivered. "_Someone just walked over my grave," _she said and then carried on with what she was doing. It kind of freaked me out at the time even though I didn't really know what she meant.

I know what she meant now. I feel it.

An icy, motherfucking looming sense of 'something ain't right'.

I run my fingers over my weapon's cool metal, trying to get it to soothe me as I wait for Edward's return.

As I sit there, I imagine him walking to me covered in someone's shed blood, but smiling triumphantly.

I imagine him running towards me, the crazy overtaking every feature on his face to the point where I can't tell what happened.

I imagine him stumbling towards me, the blood being his before dropping to his knees in front of the car, blank eyed and moments away from death.

I can't just sit here; my mind is my own worst enemy. I keep the gun in hand as I open the door and get out. I slink around to where the opening is that Edward went through, and I hear him talking to a man who is coughing a lot. I peek my head around and see the man, in a sweaty, white button down shirt and a handkerchief held in his hand, which he continually coughs into.

I listen as they talk of money and product until Edward zips open the backpack. I watch as he hands over the meth to the greasy coughing man and takes a brown envelope from him. The man turns to put the meth in a toolbox drawer, and after Edward is done shoving the envelope into our bag, I see his hand move to the waistband of his pants.

Cool as a cucumber, he makes a small laughing sound, like what he's about to say is an afterthought, and takes a step towards the man's back. "Oh, my parents say hello."

The man starts to turn towards him while talking. "Who the fuck are your parents, kid and why do I care-" I see his eyes widen at the sight of Edward standing way too close with a pretty hefty knife being thrust directly at his throat.

Edward doesn't cut. Edward doesn't slash. He sits the blade there, while the man goes completely still. "I don't know who the fuck you think you are you little cocksucker," he growls despite the knife pressing against his trachea, "but-"

Edward doesn't give him a chance to finish and shoves the knife a bit. "Elizabeth and Edward Masen's son. That's who the fuck I am." A drop of blood escapes and travels quickly down the man's throat, caught in the sweat that has gathered there, making a watery stream that stains his collar.

I see the man narrow his eyes at Edward and grin. "I don't know who you're referring to."

"My knife here seems to think you do." Edward pushes the knife again and I see the man flinch a bit, but he's not backing down.

"What are you gonna do, kid? Kill me? Right here? You think you're the first punk to come through here thinking you can get me?" He coughs, and the motion in his throat makes the knife nick his skin again.

In my periphery, I see someone coming from around the building on the opposite side of the lot from where I am, and I zero in on the gun he's got pointed directly at Edward's head as he creeps forward.

He obviously hasn't seen me, so I react quickly without thinking, and as I pull the shotgun up, I yell loudly.

"Edward! Get down!"

I don't have time to correct my stance and aim at the guy with the gun, but I pull the trigger anyway and I watch as he drops to the ground, clutching his stomach. I look quickly to Edward to see that he has, indeed, followed my instruction and has both hands and knees on the floor. I don't think he's aware of what's going on around him, he's so focused on his target, and I watch as he stabs the guy directly on top of his foot. The man screams out in startled pain, and Edward quickly pulls the knife out and with a surge of aggression, violently slashes the knife across the inside of the man's thigh as he's spreading his legs a bit to try and cradle his foot in his hands. Big, red blooming streams of blood pump through the air, instantly soaking the man's gray pants and spewing across Edward's neck and chest.

The man collapses immediately, a look of shock on his face before he realizes what's happening. I look back over to the guy with the gun, and he's struggling to pull himself up into a seated position. I see him raise the gun up with a shaky hand and point it towards me. Before he can do anything else, I cock the hammer and blast another hole directly into his chest. The gun drops from his grip instantly as he falls back with the force of the blow, going immediately still and quickly being engulfed in a pool of blood beneath him.

I rush to Edward who is now standing above the man he slashed; the man he believes took everything from him.

He's breathing hard, looking down at the guy writhing in pain, as blood falls in large droplets from the knife in his hand onto the ground.

"I really wanted to make this slow and painful. But it looks like I may have gotten your femoral artery. Not quite as slow as I'd like, but hella painful, I'm guessing."

Despite the obvious agony the man is in, writhing on the cement floor as an alarming amount of blood continuously sprays out of the cut, the guy manages to ground out one final insult. "Not as painful as burning to a crisp."

All of the air in the garage stills and then whooshes like a cyclone as Edward literally sucks in a huge lungful of air before he bends over and lashes out, stabbing the guy right in his throat. Edward laughs, bending over him. "You deserve to have your fat, sweaty body chopped into tiny pieces for what you did to my family, but you know what?"

He doesn't wait for an answer as the increasingly pale guy has one hand on his throat and one soaking, red handkerchief on his thigh. "You didn't get them. They're alive and happy, and you failed."

He growls directly in the man's face as he pulls the knife out of his neck roughly, wriggling and inflicting as much pain as he can. "But I'm not going to fail, you motherfucker."

And with that, he brings the knife down straight into the quickly dying man's heart.

As the man is taking a last, pathetic, gurgling breath, two shots ring out and I see Edward's body flail back and land on the floor.

It takes an eternity in what is actually a microscopic moment in time for me to look down and realize that my whole reason for living has been shot. Blood flows on his shoulder and near his eye. There's so much blood pooling quickly on his face that I can't tell if the bullet has brushed the skin or taken the whole eye out.

Without thought, I raise the shotgun up with a yell and cock it in one swift move, shooting the man that's coming down the stairwell ready to shoot again. I give him no opportunity, as I get him straight in the head. Blood and brains spray against the wall behind him, making wet, splattering sounds as clumps of hair and skull pelt the cement. He topples over the iron rail, landing with a dull thump on the hood of a car.

I rush to Edward's side, still clutching the gun, and put my hands on him. There's so much blood I can't tell what's going on. From far away, like from some other planet, I hear the beginning of sirens.

"Edward! Edward!" I cry and I see his one eye fluttering open to look at me.

"It's over baby, it's over." And with that, Edward shuts his eye and slumps further down onto the cold, gray painted floor, his blood mingling with that of the man he hated so much.

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**If You Could Read My Mind by bela c'ella luna**

Bella has moved back home to Forks. It's only a matter of time until she crosses paths with Edward Cullen, her former best friend and first love. They both thought that they had moved on... full of angst. All-human, LEMONS.

* * *

_**As always, thank you to Carrie ZM and LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Remember, reviews make me happy!**_


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

_**Five to one, baby  
**__**One in five  
**__**No one here gets out alive, now  
**__**You get yours, baby  
**__**I'll get mine  
**__**Gonna make it baby  
**__**If we try**_

**- "Five to One", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

"_It's over baby, it's over." And with that, Edward shuts his eye and slumps further down onto the cold, gray painted floor, his blood mingling with that of the man he hated so much._

* * *

"Oh god, oh god Edward, no!" I cry, shaking him and trying to get him to react. He doesn't move immediately, but after another shake, he moves his head to the side and looks at me with his one good eye.

"Bella. I think I've been shot," he laughs, the sound much too weak for the force of what Edward is.

My body sags and I allow my eyes to close in relief, but for only a brief moment, because we've got to move. "Come on, Edward, we need to get up. Right now."

The sirens are still in the distance but they won't be much longer. I pull on Edward's arms and he hisses in pain when his shoulder moves. "I'm sorry!" I cry, but continue to pull him anyway. I can't get him in that car without his help.

He moves his legs around in the thick pool of blood until he's kneeling, and with my support, gets himself into an upright position. We shuffle past the corpse of the man Edward just brutally slaughtered, his body still oozing blood, and head towards the car as fast as we can. He leans against the side as I open the passenger door, and the blood that's soaking his clothes stains the light blue exterior paint. I shove him unceremoniously down onto the seat, where blood also smears the backrest as his body slides over the upholstery. Quickly, I run back into the shop to grab the bag, and the knife that's still protruding from the man's chest. The removal of it makes a sick, sucking noise, and after throwing the knife down onto the floorboards next to our scattered belongings, I grab two of our shirts and stuff them in his hands, telling him to hold one against his shoulder and the other on his eye.

I make my way to the driver's seat and start the car, moving with a jerk as my foot remembers what to do. Shooting out of the parking lot, I sail down the one-way street, turning left into an intersection, which I hope is in the opposite direction from where the sirens sound like they're approaching from. In my terror, I'm swerving left and right, and Edward tells me to calm down before we get pulled over for a DUI. He finds this hysterically funny and that crazy barking laugh shoots out of his mouth over and over.

"What do I do, Edward? What do I do?" I panic, driving and trying to check his wounds. I think I see his other eye open and I calm myself for a bit, until I remember that his shoulder might have a bullet lodged in it.

"Let's go to Mexico!" he laughs and barks and I think he's finally lost it.

I zoom away from any area that looks congested with traffic, cutting through side streets and making my way towards a less inhabited neighborhood where the houses are spread out and businesses have disappeared.

"We have to get to a hospital." I think out loud and Edward stops laughing long enough to yell at me.

"No! No fucking hospital, Bella. We can't. We can't!"

"Edward! You've been fucking shot!"

"Find something else, no hospital. It's all over if we go to a hospital." That thought sobers me, and I nod, trying to figure out what to do.

I keep driving, reminding Edward to keep the shirts pressed tight against his wounds. I think of the first aid kit in the glove box, but I highly doubt two Band-Aids and a strip of gauze are going to help me. I need a doctor.

After about fifteen minutes of panicked driving, I see we're out in some farmland with the city rapidly falling behind us. I keep driving, knowing if I can find a doctor out here it'll be much safer for us than if we stayed in San Antonio. Edward seems to be holding up okay, he's breathing erratically but he's conscious.

We're driving down a stretch of road that's turned quite barren and I start to fear that maybe I made the wrong decision, but I forge ahead, getting farther and farther away from the city. A huge sign welcomes us to a town called Devine and after a little while longer, I see large areas of subdivision housing start to pop up. They have to have a doctor around here somewhere if there are people living here.

I keep driving, thinking I'll see a little town. I pass a long, white picket fence and as we fly by, a sign hanging out on a post makes me brake hard, throwing Edward into the dashboard with a loud curse.

Backing up, I pause to read the sign.

**Veterinary Clinic  
****Livestock  
****Pets  
****House Calls  
****Dr. Eli Thomas, DVM  
****Dr. Sandra Thomas, DVM**

It's perfect.

I guide the car down a ridiculously long winding dirt road that eventually leads to a pretty house surrounded by shady trees. There's a stately red barn off to the side, with a corral attached, holding what looks to be a few sheep and a horse. There's one car parked nearby, and I'm hoping that means the vet is home.

Pulling the car up closer to the house, I confirm we're at the part that appears to be the office entrance. I move the car around to the side of the barn and tell Edward to wait there. Grabbing the shotgun I'd thrown in the backseat, I snatch up two shells, reloading the gun before walking up to the side door that is confirmed to be the vet office by a sign asking me to ring the bell before entering.

I don't bother to ring the bell as requested. Instead, I turn the knob and walk in, betting on an empty waiting room, as there's only the one car in the drive.

Holding the shotgun tightly, I quickly look around the space and see no one. There's not even anyone behind what would be the receptionist's desk.

"Hello? Hello! Help!" I yell, hoping to get someone's attention. I push open the door that most likely leads to the examination rooms and walk down a small hallway lined with pictures of animals with a smiling, older couple. The two vets on the sign, I'm assuming.

I hear a voice coming from a room on my left and turn the knob, letting the door fly open to bang against the wall. I hold the shotgun behind me and I see the man from the picture, cradling his cell phone between his shoulder and ear.

A look of pure annoyance is on his face until he sees all the blood I'm covered in and his eyes widen.

"I need your help. Are you the vet?" I ask, still standing in the doorway of the man's office.

"I'll call you back," he says into the phone and hits the end button. "What happened? What's the matter?"

"It's my dog, he was hit by a car. Please, please, he's outside." I don't have to fake the fright in my voice or the tears streaming down my face.

"Of course, hold on, let me grab my bag." I stand against the doorframe with the shotgun still behind me as he grabs a medical bag and rushes out past me. I follow him back down the hallway, where he stops at an exam room to grab a few other things from a cabinet. "It's going to be okay, what kind of dog is he?" he asks, most likely trying to calm me down.

"German Shepherd."

"That's a good, strong dog," he says in a reassuring voice. "Let's go." I follow him out as he rushes down the steps, and I direct him around the barn to the car. As he rounds the building, I can tell from his slowing steps the exact moment he sees all the blood on the side of our vehicle, and he stops when he sees Edward in the passenger seat with his head lolling back and forth on the headrest.

He starts to turn towards me. "What is this-"

I pull the shotgun up and brace it against my shoulder. "We need your help. He's been shot, in the shoulder, and maybe the eye. Please. I don't want to hurt you, so _please_, just help him," my voice begs.

He looks to me, the gun, and then to Edward. He's a smart man; he moves to the car and opens up the door.

"We need to get him inside," he says, and I protest.

"No. The barn. Get him in the barn." I can't let this guy anywhere near a phone. "Where's the other doctor, Sandra? Is that your wife?"

"She's in town on a house call," he replies evenly, but the strained quality in his voice barely masks his obvious fear.

"Is she coming back any time soon?"

"No, she should be gone a while." He eyes me, and starts to help Edward out of the car. He moans loudly at the movement, but he manages to get Edward shuffling towards the barn with me closely behind, shotgun at the ready.

"Do you have any weapons in here?" I ask as I look around the space. Seems like a normal barn with horse stalls, hay, and farm equipment. There are a few rolling cabinets like the one in the exam room and a metal table.

"No, no weapons."

"I really don't want to hurt you, sir. I just want you to keep him alive. That's all I want."

He looks over at me after he rests Edward against the table. "I'll help you, but you have to tell me what happened."

"He was shot!" I scream, and point the shotgun higher.

He raises his hands instinctively. "Alright, alright! No one needs to get hurt here." He turns back to Edward and lays him on the table, immediately checking the area by his eye before moving to his shoulder. He rips Edward's bloody t-shirt at the neck and peels the now dry material away from the wound, making Edward gasp in pain. "It's right at the fleshy part, hopefully it missed any muscle and bone." The doctor mutters more to himself than to us.

"Okay, now I'm going to have to lift you a bit to see if the bullet is still in there." He pushes Edward's shoulder off the table slightly and looks at his back. "Small exit wound. That's good." He rifles through his bag, and I make sure he knows the shotgun is still on him as he does so. He moves to Edward's face and wipes some of the blood away before taking out an instrument with a flashlight that he points directly into Edward's still intact eye. "You're very lucky, seems the bullet missed your eye by millimeters. You have a fairly large graze, right by the corner, and it looks like you have some fragments in there, but I'll get them out as best I can." Edward just moans and says 'yeah', his increasing quietness alarming.

I keep my posture tense as the doctor asks Edward a few questions to determine if he's coherent or going into shock due to the amount of blood loss. He nods his head when Edward answers; satisfied that he seems to know what's going on. He uses a needle to put lidocaine in the spots where he's going to stitch him up, explaining that it'll numb the area, hopefully easing some of the pain. He starts to work on Edward's shoulder first, cleaning the area with peroxide before he begins suturing the back and then the front of the bullet wound. Edward grimaces in the beginning, but says it's not so bad. I can tell when the lidocaine has fully kicked in, as he barely makes a sound while the doctor finishes.

He moves to Edward's eye and grabs a pair of magnifying glasses and a long pair of tweezers out of his bag, working studiously as he drops a few small bits of metal onto the table. The lidocaine has numbed the area pretty well, and Edward doesn't flinch while the doctor works.

When he's through, the sight of the ghastly black thread holding the skin together on his beautiful face makes me want to cry, but I keep my composure. He finishes by taping some gauze over the damaged eye and instructs me to check it and change the gauze often from all three wounds.

He helps Edward sit up, and he sways, woozy. "Do you have a shirt for him?" The doctor asks and I laugh.

"If you think I'm leaving you with him you're out of your mind. Help me get him to the car." I motion the shotgun towards the barn doors, and the doctor braces Edward up so he's supporting his weight slightly as he gets him off the table. Edward stands for a moment, getting his bearings and winces when he moves his arm.

Suddenly, the sound of a car coming from outside makes us all still our movements, and I hiss at the doctor. "Who the fuck is that?"

Dr. Thomas cranes his neck to look through a dirty window on the side of the barn, and I join him, gasping when I see the brown sheriff's car pulling to a stop a little ways away from where we stand next to the wide open doors.

"Get rid of him!" I whisper, and remind him that I'll have the gun pointed at the both of them. "Don't let him too close." He makes his way out of the barn, sliding the door shut partially behind him, and I watch as he removes his latex gloves and apologizes to the deputy that he can't shake hands.

"Afternoon, Eli. Whatcha got goin' on in there?" The young deputy asks, nodding his head in the direction of the barn.

"Oh, just a goat with a gash from the fencing," the doctor motions with a wave of his hand towards the corral. "Been meaning to fix the north side after that wind storm."

"Yup, Marjorie's been on me to fix those gutters. Guess that's something I should probably get to myself." The deputy rocks back and forth on his heels a moment.

"So what can I do you for, Patrick?"

"There was a ruckus over on the north side of the city earlier today, the sheriff seems to think it's related to those teenagers that have been working their way across the lower 48. Vicious stabbing. You heard about them?"

I hold my breath, and wait, ready to shoot if necessary.

"Nope, not sure what that's all about. Watching mostly golf lately on the TV." The doctor laughs, and to his credit, doesn't appear nervous at all.

"Well, we're just checking in with the folk on this stretch. San Antonio police believe they were heading out this way and US 57," he points out towards the main road, "is really the only passageway, so we're on alert. You let us know if you see anything. We believe they're driving an old blue convertible."

"Will do. Been inside the barn mostly though." The doctor nods towards us, and Edward and I step back a bit farther when the deputy looks over.

He looks at the barn a moment and I feel Edward's rapid heartbeat pressed against my back.

"Okay, Eli. You have a good one. Fix that fence," he laughs, and makes his way back to his car.

The doctor says goodbye and watches while the deputy makes his way back down the long driveway.

"Fuck. They're watching for us." Edward harshly spits out, right before the doctor comes back in. "We have to get out of here."

Edward exits the barn, walking towards the car on his own, with the doctor next to him and me pulling up the rear. Edward reaches in and grabs the first shirt he finds on the floor, gingerly putting it on his still bloody body. He climbs in the car and the doctor closes the door for him. When he steps away, he eyes me as I keep the shotgun poised on him.

"I do know who you are," he whispers suddenly, staring right at me. "I can help you get away from him, let me help you."

Anger and heat flush my body, pissed that he couldn't just keep his mouth shut. "You don't know shit. Let's go." I motion towards the car with the shotgun that's still pointed at him.

"What?" he asks, startled.

"You think I'm gonna let you run right back into that house and call your friend Patrick?"

"Please, I helped you, I have a grandchild that's about to be born. You don't need to do this. I'll let you go, I won't call anyone. I don't want any trouble. You were never here."

I look down the barrel of the shotgun and contemplate my next move. I could blow him away right now, and we'd be long gone before they put two and two together.

But I don't. I can't. This isn't who I am.

I hand Edward the shotgun and he grabs it with his uninjured right arm. "Hold it on him, he's walking us down the driveway."

"Yes, ma'am," Edward chuckles, and does what I say as I move to the driver's side. The doctor is visibly upset and nervous, but starts walking as I inch the car next to him. It takes about five minutes to reach the sign I bet he wishes I never noticed. I tell him to stop, and I pause the car next to him.

Taking the shotgun from Edward, I put it in the back and turn to the doctor. "Thank you…for helping us," I say softly, genuinely. I hope he can see that I am truly grateful. Even if letting him live is a stupid thing to do, the look of relief on his face is one I know I won't regret.

"I want you to wait here for a half an hour and then go back to your house." I'm not stupid enough to think he'll actually wait and not run back immediately to call the police, but he agrees. His long walk back buys us a little time, at least.

I pull the envelope from the backpack and throw a few hundreds out onto the ground before I quickly pull away, leaving the good doctor in a cloud of dust.

* * *

I have to get Edward some water, we both need to wash up before we get to the border, and I need more gauze than what is in the stingy first aid kit. We also have to clean off the side of the car since it's unlikely we'll take the time to get a new one.

I see one of those gas stations with the little store attached and pull in quickly next to a water spigot with a hose. After I change out of my bloody shirt, I run in to see what supplies I can find while Edward starts spraying water over the car.

There's one teenager manning the place, and he's reading a comic book so I grab a few bottles of water and look for any type of first aid section.

While I'm swiftly looking over the small amount of medical supply options, I hear the squeaking of brakes and look out to see a sheriff's car pulling up in front of one of the pumps. The sun catches the metal on the side mirror and casts a flash of light across the store, hitting me in the eye as my heart lodges itself in my throat. A different deputy climbs out and starts to fill the tank.

I'm stuck in place, watching over the top of the low aisle, glancing between the kid and the deputy, who is now making his way inside the dinky little store. I slink away towards the refrigerated containers lining the back wall and wait.

The kid pulls down a pack of Camels and they make small talk as they wait for the gas pump to finish filling so he can ring the deputy out. In the middle of their debate about whether or not the Pearsall High's baseball team will make it to the playoffs, the radio clipped to the deputy's shoulder crackles and pops with a bulletin.

I'm not surprised at all when I hear Dr. Eli Thomas's name over the radio, and the dispatchers tinny voice reporting that we were last seen heading west on US 57, which is what we're still on, since there aren't any other roads for miles and it's the most direct route to Mexico.

While the deputy resumes his conversation with the kid behind the counter, I walk out quickly without paying and run to the car, throwing my purchases into the backseat. I explain to Edward what I just heard and he directs me not to call more attention to us by driving past the windows of the shop. I snake through the back of the parking lot out onto the street just as the deputy and the kid walk out of the doors, shouting at me.

We're in trouble. I know this. Edward knows this. On top of now being aware that we're on the town's radar, there's a deputy too close in proximity that's about to be right behind us or calling in to his department to report our location.

This is confirmed when ten minutes later, we pass a Shell gas station with two police cars sitting. Waiting. Idling.

I don't know if I should speed up or pretend we're not who they're looking for. I watch the rearview and see one of the cars pulling out a bit of a distance behind us, the second car following moments later. They're trailing us.

"Why aren't they catching up?" I glance around us nervously. There's nothing really to the left or right of us except brush, dirt, and big patches of green I assume is farmland. There's nowhere to hide.

Edward turns with a wince in his seat, cursing. "They're blocking us in. There's going to be a roadblock set up by the time we reach the next town, if not before." Edward says coolly, and reaches down for the ammo, keeping it in his lap with the gun.

"We can't just shoot our way through it!" I yell, panicked. My palms are sweaty, slippery on the steering wheel, and my hair clings and sticks to my neck, dampened with fear.

Edward looks at me.

He looks at me for too long as I maintain our speed, not too slow, not too fast.

"Pull over, I'm driving," he says, and I protest that he can't. "Of course I can. Come on. They're far enough behind, can't even see them right now." I look in the rearview and see that he's right. "We've got to switch before the roadblock," he says, and gives me a crooked grin, "you're the better shot." My Edward is taking back control, and I've never been more relieved. If anyone can get us out of this, it's him.

I pull over and quickly get out of the car, rounding the front while Edward climbs out of the passenger side. "Edward! Come on!" I wave my hands at him to get him to move because he's just standing there. "Let's go!"

He doesn't move to get in the driver's seat; instead, he grabs my flailing arms with his hands. "Bella, listen to me. Listen to me good." He's staring at me intently, and I swear I see heartache in his one bloodshot eye.

My entire body fills with dread as I take in the way he's looking at me. A cold, clammy feeling works its way up my spine and seeps into my heart. "No, Edward. No." I whisper, shaking my head and trying to get out of his grip.

"Bella, they're coming." I look behind us, still seeing the road empty and Edward continues. "But it won't be for long. They're coming fast. You have a better chance without me." His fingers grip my arms tightly, punctuating each word.

"No!" I scream and start to cry. "We need to stay together!"

"You know this is the right thing." He's pleading with me now, and I can barely see him through my tears, as they well up and make oceans in my eyes.

"No, no," I say, shaking my head furiously. "You said we'd never be apart!"

"Come find me, Bella. Let's get out of this mess and when it's over, you come find me, you hear me? _You. Come. Find. Me._"

"Where…how?" I stutter. "I don't understand! Edward, let's just go, please!" I'm sobbing now, my tears flowing freely down my cheeks and dampening my shirt as I try to pull out of his tight grasp.

He ignores my cries as he keeps his hold on me and pushes his face close to mine so that I'm forced to look him in the eye. "You know what to tell the police."

Fiercely and abruptly, he kisses me, his hands on my arms pulling me to him violently before he pushes me away, but still within his hold. His face swims in my vision as he shakes me a little. "Now say it, Bella. Say it."

I know what he wants me to say but I refuse, shutting my eyes tight and kicking his ankle. My struggle is futile, but I continue to try to get back to the car.

He shakes me again, and my eyes open, seeing the determination on his face. "Dammit Bella, if you don't say it, I swear to Christ I'll sit right here, pull the shotgun on them, and let them fucking kill me. _Now say it!_"

He's practically holding me up as I sob and whisper in the most pitiful voice anyone has ever possessed.

"Sangre."

His eyes close and he grabs me to him, engulfing me entirely, and he whispers into my hair. "Sangre, my ferocious Bella."

He releases me and I sway, traumatized and dizzy, as I watch him lean into the passenger seat to grab something before he quickly turns back to me. A siren starts to sound in the distance as he hurriedly puts my passport and ID into the brown money envelope, shoving it down the front of my pants before clutching my hand. I watch numbly, unable to do anything but whimper as he clumsily wraps a Band-Aid from the trusty first aid kit around my tattoo in haste. "Sangre," he says again with a shaky voice, and pushes himself away from me.

"No, Edward, please. Don't do this! Please! Let's go to Mexico, or let's die together, just don't leave me!" I scream out as I watch him climb into the car and jump into the driver's seat rapidly.

He looks over to me from behind the wheel, tears streaming down his own face now, mixing with the black and the blood. An image I'm sure he sees mirrored on mine. The pain in his voice is palpable with its own, retched ache. "This is the only way to make sure you're okay, Bella. That's all I care about," he implores, and then he drives the final knife straight through my heart.

"_I love you the best. Better than all the rest," _he sings to me, quoting our favorite musician in his final words as the sirens increase, creating a disjointed harmony.

The car starts to pull away and my hands reach out to claw the metal, as I scream his name over and over, cursing and calling him a liar. I drop hard to my bare knees, my waterlogged eyes watching in disbelief as he drives away from me. Gravel kicks back towards my body, and I hear the approaching blare of a siren coming up behind me.

I stare until a police car speeds past me, kicking up dust and making my hair fly around my face. My chest tightens in pain and I drop my head down, my clammy forehead pressed into the dirt shoulder of the road.

I start rocking back and forth in a fetal position, whimpering and clutching my hands across the back of my head.

I hear a car door slam and realize the second car must've stopped while the other went ahead in pursuit of Edward.

"Keep your hands right there on your head!" I'm commanded by a deep, serious voice, and I can't care enough to protest. I continue rocking, crying, while my mind plays Edward's words to me over and over.

_You know what to say to the police._

I take in a shuddering lungful of air as I hear the cop approaching, his boots crunching on the stray bits of asphalt the cars have kicked up, and in the strongest voice as I can muster, I say it.

"My name is Isabella Swan." I swallow painfully, my voice scratchy and thick, while my brain screams and protests against what I know I have to say.

"I've been kidnapped."

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**I Hate You with an Insurmountable Passion by Crittab**

Bella Swan would like to think she truly hates Edward Cullen. Of course, that's what makes sex with him so damn fun. E/B, All Human, AU. Rated a hard M for Lemons.

* * *

_**As always, thank you to Carrie ZM and LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Remember, reviews make me happy!**_


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

_**This is the end  
**__**Beautiful friend  
**__**This is the end  
**__**My only friend, the end  
**__**Of our elaborate plans, the end  
**__**Of everything that stands, the end  
**__**No safety or surprise, the end  
**__**I'll never look into your eyes…again**_

**_Can you picture what will be  
_****_So limitless and free  
_****_Desperately in need…of some…stranger's hand  
_****_In a…desperate land_**

_**This is the end  
**__**Beautiful friend  
**__**This is the end  
**__**My only friend, the end  
**__**It hurts to set you free  
**__**But you'll never follow me  
**__**The end of laughter and soft lies  
**__**The end of nights we tried to die**_

**- "The End", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

Everything happens so fast.

I'm moved, hustled, jostled, and questioned. Flashing lights invade and prick my eyes, while shouting voices and police swirl around me. At some point an ambulance has shown up, and they move me so I'm sitting on the edge of the open back. I don't really comprehend any of it even though it's happening to me because I can only focus on one thing.

Edward left me.

He left me screaming, bleeding, sobbing on the side of the road, and I have no idea if he's been shot to hell or if he somehow got away.

Those are the only two options; because there's no fucking way he would let them take him into custody alive.

A woman in an ill-fitting medic's uniform keeps asking me if I'm hurt and shoves a water bottle my way urging me to drink. I scratch at her when she tries to wipe the black eyeliner that's mingled with dirt and tears off my face, so she gives up and switches her efforts to another part of my body. There are people on radios and phones talking loud while people touch me and try to give me blankets. The police want to know where the blood on my legs is from, and I can't remember if it's from the dead man Edward butchered or from when I fell to my knees on the dirt and rocks. So I say nothing.

They repeatedly say to each other that I'm in shock, and I guess I am…but not for the reasons they believe.

* * *

When they tell me they are taking me to the local hospital I freak out. I yell and sob, hysterical, knowing that if they get me there I'll never hear anything about Edward. I'll be scrutinized, poked, prodded, and they will for sure see the Band-Aid I have been successful in keeping away from the paramedics.

They placate me, and instead, I am taken to the police station in San Antonio where I've now been for a full day, lying on a couch with a scratchy blanket over me. Despite the doctor and therapist they've brought in, I've not moved or uttered a sound. They explain that they've contacted the Archer sheriff's department, and we're now waiting for my father to arrive so I can be 'happily reunited with my loved one that must be so worried about me'.

No one mentions Edward. Not even the police radios are turned on in the vicinity of where I am, for my supposed benefit.

I gather from the small bit of conversation I overhear that they're quite confused and not sure how to handle this. Apparently I'm the highest profile kidnapping case they've had to deal with, and I'm not helping them any by remaining comatose. They don't want to traumatize me further by questioning and pushing me, and I hear a rumor that the FBI is about to arrive and they plan on waiting for the agent and my father to see what they can do. So here I sit, in a fog still unbelieving that this is how it all ends.

It's odd to hear when they tell me that the drive will take my father fourteen hours. I feel like a lifetime has passed and in just over a half a day, my father is making the trip that took Edward and me weeks to achieve.

This also means that in another day, I'll be back in that desolate trailer, back to my pathetic life, and the thought causes me to throw up twice in some poor cop's wastebasket.

* * *

I'm sitting at a table with a dry turkey sandwich untouched in front of me, while the poor schmoe assigned to babysit watches me like I'm some sort of circus freak. As I sit numbly staring at my lunch, I hear the middle-aged, female Bexar County Sherriff greet my father in the room to my left, and then footsteps falling on cracked linoleum.

"Bella," is all he says, and I turn my head slowly, looking at him with the dead stare I've had on my face since I lied to the cop on the side of the road. If it were possible for someone to have aged overnight, the proof is there, etched on my dad's face. He just looks so tired, and try as I might to feel guilty, I can't.

I don't say anything as he approaches, and I feel all the eyes in the room on us, as they want to be a part of this epic moment. What they witness instead is an uneventful reunion, with no relieved exclamations of joy, just an awkward silence as Charlie and I look at each other for what feels like forever.

I'm waiting for him to say something when suddenly, a loud sob comes from him and he crouches his body in front of me so that his eyes are level with mine. He grabs the hands that have been idly sitting in my lap, and my eyes widen slightly as I see tears forming in his. "Bella," he repeats.

I blink, and my voice comes out small and weak. "Hey, Dad."

* * *

We've been in a cold, gray interrogation room for two hours; Charlie sits next to me while the sherriff and an FBI agent sit across the small table with folders and papers littering the top.

I haven't answered any of their questions really, I just confirm in a monotone, unfeeling voice a basic timeline of our locations that they've pieced together. I don't talk about the Piggly Wiggly when it's brought up, Edward's aunt and uncle, or Mike Fucking Newton. I don't talk about how Edward may have 'forced' me to join him or if I ever tried to escape from him before yesterday.

They talk about how in video it appears he's 'holding me', 'pushing me', and 'controlling me'. I snort internally, knowing he'd be giving me a big old 'I was right' if he were to hear that's how they interpreted everything they saw.

They ask me repeatedly if Edward hurt me and that's the only thing I answer with any sort of conviction, shaking my head and saying never.

"So he didn't force himself upon you? Hurt you in some way?" The FBI agent asks for the third time, and I repeat my answer of no.

He crosses one leg over the other and leans back in his chair, fiddling with the pen in his hand, continually clicking it open and closed. "Why are you protecting him, Miss Swan?" he asks suddenly, and I scream in my head _"I am Mrs. Cullen!"_ while fingering the Band-Aid that still sits in place on my finger.

Before I can say anything, Charlie pipes up next to me. "I think we need to consider the possibility that Bella may be experiencing some symptoms of Stockholm syndrome." I look over at him sharply, and I can see it in his eyes.

He knows.

"I think I need to get my daughter home, checked out by our local doctor, and then we'll be ready to talk to you. In Archer. I think she's been through enough." The chair my dad is sitting in scrapes backwards as he gets up.

"I don't think so, Mr. Swan. Your daughter here is a key witness to a set of brutal murders, and we need to debrief her immediately."

My father leans over the table, his knuckles turning white at the pressure of his weight on them as they crush into the metal. "I don't think you realize who you're dealing with here, Agent Cruz. The first crime committed happened in _my_ jurisdiction. You come to us when we're ready for you to do so." He straightens up and motions for me to follow. "I'm getting her home, where I can spend time with the daughter that just got returned to me, the daughter I never thought I'd see again. If you don't like it, I'll let the press know how the San Antonio police and the FBI treated an underage kidnap victim."

* * *

I stare up at my ceiling; the pattern of the dirty tiles is one I've come to memorize in the two weeks following my return to the shitty trailer I never thought I'd see again. I refuse to call it 'home'. Home is hundreds, maybe thousands of miles away, if home still lives and breathes at all.

The San Antonio police haven't caught Edward. I don't know exactly what happened, but apparently the cop pursuing him never caught up to him and got into some sort of accident. They've put out an all points bulletin for him, covering the border to Mexico, all of the airports, and major highways. I don't tell them he'd never take a highway. Since they have no picture of him, his face isn't being plastered all over the place and I'm hoping he's gotten somewhere safely, unnoticed.

Here in Florida, the Archer sheriff's department has set up round the clock security at the entrance to the trailer park, and it's given me a bit of a relief from the constant attention that's been thrust upon me with my return.

Newspapers and magazines-some of which are national-have been hounding us, wanting me to tell the story of how I escaped from a madman after a two week killing spree. They offer money, but I decline every single one of them through Sherriff Tate's secretary, who has taken on the task of acting as go-between. I refuse to see anyone, and only talk to the police when I have to. After an agonizing amount of interviews, they finally seem satisfied with my falsified tale of events. I tell the same story over and over, until I almost start to believe it myself.

They have come to the conclusion that Edward Masen forced me at knifepoint to stay by his side while he went on a bloody rampage, and that I finally escaped after throwing myself out of the car when he slowed down to figure out another route as we heard sirens approach.

Lucky, they call me. Smart. Brave.

What they don't know is that I'm anything but. I'm fading, scared, lifeless.

I flip everyone the bird in my head, hating them all for saying things about Edward and me that just aren't true. But I keep up the charade for them and claim no memory of certain events due to trauma. It's not hard to fake, being as emotionless as a zombie; it's coming naturally.

I wait everyday for some news on Edward. It leaves me restless, knowing he's out there and I'm stuck here, alone and aching, because I don't know how to find him. He gave me nothing to go on.

* * *

Jim Morrison sings "The End" on repeat from the new portable CD player Charlie bought me, along with the CDs I requested when he asked me for the hundredth time just what it was he could do for me.

I feel bad, watching him walk around the trailer as he drinks Coke out of a can instead of beer, knowing that he's keeping all of my secrets, going against the nature of his occupation. But not bad enough to try to right my wrongs, for in my head, they're not.

I take the Band-Aid off when I'm alone and run my finger over the blood-red tattoo, the only link I have, the only thing that tells me what's true while I live a lie. I have no hoodie to put on, no eyeliner to share; everything I had drove away in that fucking piece of shit car after it ran over my bleeding, pained heart.

That fucking piece of shit car turned up a few days ago, ninety percent of it charred and burned in a field not far from US-83 in Crystal City, an hour outside of Mexico. If there was anything inside, it didn't survive the fire.

My eyes have no tears left; my stomach has nothing in it to throw up. So I just lay here, listening to Jim and trying not to think about the brown envelope stuffed under the mattress below me.

* * *

When the end of June rolls around, I don't go to prom; I don't go to graduation. Out of the kindness of their hearts for what I've been through, the school gives Charlie a stupid test for me to take and that's how I get my high school diploma.

They've finally taken down those ridiculous pictures of Mike Fucking Newton and me along with the shrine erected to display our tragic fates. They actually asked me if I wanted the picture of Mike. It was all I could do not to laugh a crazy bark of a laugh. Instead, the memory of that sound makes me just shake my head no and choke as I swallow down my heart with bile.

* * *

I finally let Rosalie McCarty in to see me, and she takes one look at my appearance and makes me take a shower. She sits on the couch with me, braiding my hair as I stay silent and we watch TV, which thankfully has lost interest in my story.

She begins to come by everyday, sometimes with the kids thinking that will cheer me up. It doesn't.

She hasn't asked, but I can tell she knows too. Knows I'm a farce, that I'm a liar, that I'm just a shell of myself. I'm not sure how I can appear worse to her than I did before I left with Edward, but apparently I do, judging from the pitying looks she gives me when she thinks I'm not paying attention. If only she'd seen how alive he made me, then she'd really be able to compare.

Finally, after an uncountable number of afternoons sitting on that couch silently with her, I talk. I need to tell someone the only thought that's been screeching nonstop in my head day and night since I returned.

My throat tightens and squeaks quietly, unfamiliar. "I don't know what to do now."

I hear her breathe out a sigh of what I believe is relief as she turns to look at me. Her blue eyes shine, hopeful. "What was the plan?"

Tears I didn't know I could make anymore start to bloom in my eyes, and I take off the Band-Aid. "He married me. He wanted me." I hold up my shaky hand for her, and she takes it gently, moving it back and forth like she's inspecting a diamond ring.

She doesn't say anything for a long time, just holds my cold hand in her warm one. "You know, when I told you to get the fuck out of Archer, I meant like on a bus or something."

I almost laugh.

* * *

Charlie and I move around the trailer like two strangers, the only time we interact is when the phone rings. I can't voice it out loud, but he knows what I'm waiting for. I can't tell if I'm happy or disappointed when he just shakes his head no at me each time. There's no news on Edward.

Rosalie, as she now insists I call her, has loaned me her old beat up laptop, and I check the news everyday but don't uncover anything new that the San Antonio police aren't sharing with Sherriff Tate.

I google the name 'Cullen' on a Mexico people search website. I google the address that was put on my fake ID to see if that has any importance. I google anything I can think of that might lead me to where he said to find him.

My heart stings fresh when I come up with nothing. It makes me angry with him every time, but then that's quickly replaced with a heartbreak so intense, the word is barely accurate.

At night, I put the headphones on that came with the player and will myself to dream of him. I finally do one night after weeks of trying, when behind my closed lids swim images of pastures and wildflowers. Edward and I stand in the distance; the sunlight that surrounds and bathes us in its glow is so bright you almost can't see how happy we are. But in my heart, I know it.

Waking up from that is more painful than I can describe.

* * *

Charlie has started sitting with me while I listen to my music, laying across the foot of my bed and leaning his head against the wall. Every once in a while, he'll tell me how a song reminds him of something in his youth, and his mustache will twitch up in a semi smile.

I listen to his stories, and he listens to me cry when a song that was on our special CD plays, as I relive precious moments of time with Edward in my head. Memories that regardless of how much they stab and claw at me, I refuse to let go of.

One time when this happens, he pats my leg and leaves his hand there, and I like the way it feels through the cotton of my pajama pants, so I let it stay.

* * *

I stare at Rosalie's old casserole pan, remembering a time when seeing it gave me relief, as she takes a big spoon and slops a pile onto a plate before handing it to me.

"Eat up, Bella. You've lost too much weight," she says and hands me the Parmesan cheese in the plastic green canister.

"I'm not hungry," I mumble, and keep my hands held tight around the can of fake cheese.

Coming to eat at Rosalie and Emmett's trailer tonight is the farthest I've travelled in weeks. I tried to go to the grocery store with her a while ago only to be stared at, shouted at, and have someone shove a phone in my face to take a picture. I can tell they've been a source of comfort to my dad as they seem much more familiar than they used to be. At night, they sometimes join Charlie and me when we sit outside and listen to the frogs and the crickets.

"I've been trying to get her to come to Los Abina's with me like we used to, that would put some weight on her." Charlie nudges me and I smile half-heartedly. The thought of going out for Mexican food makes me shaky and sick as I've never revealed exactly where it was Edward and I were headed. Something inside my heart won't allow me to voice it, so I've kept that to myself. I let them all just think I don't want to go out in public when asked.

"I know what would cheer Bella up," Emmett says around a mouthful of Hamburger Helper. "I've been casing a new convenience store over in Williston, maybe she can become my new lookout."

The big spoon clatters against the side of the glass dish as we all stare open mouthed at him. "Too soon?" he asks, eyes wide but dancing with amusement.

Rosalie hits him in the shoulder, and my father actually snorts, before the three of them start laughing.

For the first time in a while, I feel the hint of a real smile on my face, until the images of the many convenience stores I've been in starts a flip book in my head, and I excuse myself to go back to where I'm spending my half-life without Edward.

* * *

Another Sunday comes and my father asks me again to go to Los Abina's. I refuse as usual, but he's not letting up on me this time.

"Bella, I don't know what to do for you," I hear the emotion in his voice, and I'm struck with guilt for the way he's put up with me these last two months. "I just…I just want to have dinner with my daughter."

I roll over onto my back and look up at him, seeing pain and anguish mar his features.

"There's nothing you can do."

He sits on my bed, making me move my legs over. "I've been a shitty father, Bella. I was a shitty husband too. I can't help but think that if you and I…had a better relationship that maybe you wouldn't have felt the need to leave. Whatever happened here," he nods towards the kitchen where we both know _some_one killed Mike Fucking Newton, "maybe you would've chosen to come to me instead of leave with him."

I swallow; a new emotion setting off tears I'd thought had long dried up. "I wouldn't have. It was always going to be him. That just jump started it."

Silence fills my small bedroom; both of us letting what I've finally admitted circle the air and settle over us. I was along for the ride.

Watching my father's face, I peel off the forty-third Band-Aid that's covered my deepest secret and hold out my hand.

He looks at it, reading the word out loud, "Sangre"?

"It means blood." I trace my thumb over the underside of my finger, both of us waiting for the other to say something.

He coughs, the incredulity in his voice apparent. "Blood. Jesus fucking Christ Bella. Is that what I think it is?"

I just nod, unable to say yes out loud. "He's my blood." I take the Band-Aid and put it back on, out of what I'm sure are his judging eyes.

He sighs, deep and long. "Maybe someday…you'll tell me."

"Maybe."

Slapping his hands on his thighs, he gets up off the bed. "Well, I think I can force you to come to dinner now. I have something to hold over your head."

I look up at him quickly, confused when I see a bit of humor on his face. I can do this for him. This one thing. I owe him.

"Let me put some shoes on."

* * *

Despite the muggy June night in Florida, I wear a hat to dinner, one of Charlie's old Police Academy caps he got when he was a trainee even though it makes my forehead sweat.

I almost lose it when we sit and I see the new paper placemat in front of me, a map of Mexico with various advertisements from local businesses framing the taunting picture. It's not the first picture of Mexico I've looked at since we separated, but I still don't want anyone to know that this was where Edward and I were headed, so I drink the water placed in front of me and try not to look down and give anything away.

A few people stare, and I hear a whisper or two, but for the most part I'm left alone. Being with my father I guess is enough for them to mind their own business, as most of these people know he's a deputy when not eating tacos.

I raise an eyebrow at him when he orders a Coke instead of his usual Tecate, and he just shrugs. Neither one of us mentions that he's quit drinking, and although I'm glad, I know it's because of any lingering guilt he feels at having failed me. Even though it's a good thing, it's just another reminder of the havoc I've caused. The havoc I'm not really sorry about.

I pick at my enchiladas, thinking of Edward the entire time and letting myself fall into delusion, pretending it's him across from me and we're sitting on a beach in Mexico eating the real thing while holding our hands together, our tattoos rubbing across the other.

My head feels fuzzy and I'm about to reach my limit on this outing when I start to sweat and can't shut off my train of thought about where he is, what he's doing, if he's with his parents, in a Mexican jail, or dead. My Google search came up with nothing again today.

It hits me all at once that I might never know, that this could be it. There might be no Edward coming to get me, and there may be no Edward for me to find. I feel my two bites of enchilada start to fill up my throat at the thought that I might live the rest of my meaningless life without ever seeing his perfect face again.

I push my chair back and mutter 'bathroom', barely hearing Charlie sigh behind my back as I walk away from the table.

I make my way to the restroom, and being the stupid little hole in the wall this restaurant is, I have to wait since the single bathroom is occupied. Pacing this tiny hallway is better than being in the dining room with all of those people, so that's what I do, back and forth, back and forth.

Calming down, I lean against the wall, wondering what's taking whoever is in there so long. I look around the hallway, at the red, green, and white Mexican tchotchkes. Sombreros, chili pepper lights, and mosaic tiles in colorful patterns surround me and I close my eyes. Clearing my head, I open them and look directly in front of me, at another map of Mexico. I curse, but can't help but stand there, staring at it. My eyes trace over the foreign towns, over the Gulf of Mexico and Cancun, two places I've heard of.

I walk closer and trace my finger over the glass, letting it swirl and touch the words I can't pronounce. I imagine us driving the first baby blue convertible through these towns, images in my head varying from what I've seen in movies and what my own mind makes up.

It's a more colorful and detailed map than the ones I've looked at, and I trace my finger down over the left side, the side that touches the Pacific Ocean, getting lost in my visions.

Down over Mazatlan, Puerto Vallarta, across Acapulco.

My finger traces a town called Salina Cruz, way down on the bottom, and I almost miss it as I skim towards Guatemala.

Blackness starts to fog my eyes and encroach my vision as I sway, my heartbeat thundering loud in my ears and blocking the Mariachi music out completely as my neck breaks out in a cold sweat.

I lay both palms against the glass covering the map, reading the words over and over again.

_Playa de Sangre._

Edward.

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**Work of Art by abstract way**

Brilliant artist Edward is celebrated in the art world, but are trappings of fame also destroying him? In the lust filled world of art-whores & predators, feisty Bella knocks him off his pedestal. Will he realize that she alone has the power to heal him?

* * *

_**As always, thank you to Carrie ZM and LayAtHomeMom for their hard work.**_

_**Remember, reviews make me happy!**_


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

_**I found my own true love was on a blue Sunday  
She looked at me and told me  
I was the only one in the world  
Now I have found my girl  
My girl awaits for me in tender time  
My girl is mine, she is the world  
She is my girl **_

**- "Blue Sunday", Jim Morrison and The Doors**

* * *

The pain in my chest is indescribable as I force myself to drive away from her.

Leaving Bella is the hardest thing I've ever done. Harder than being without my parents, harder than living with my uncle, harder than taking a life, because she is everything.

Hearing her screaming, sobbing, fucking _clawing_ at the car as I drove away will haunt me forever even after she's made her way back to me.

And her yelling out at me, calling me a liar. That fucking cuts me, rips my heart.

But I know that she's got a better chance of getting back to me this way, and I have to have faith that she'll realize I'm right, that everything I do is for her.

For now though, I can't think about that. I have to worry about getting away from this fucking cop so I can _be_ found once she figures it out. And I know she will. She's so fucking clever, my Bella.

After about ten minutes of high speed driving, the siren behind me grows louder and rings in my ears as it follows me down this lone stretch of highway that I've trapped myself on. I know what I have to do, and for the millionth time since I left her monstrously at the side of the road, I wish my fucking beautiful Bella were with me. She'd fucking ace this.

I grab the shotgun from the floor of the passenger side and brace the shaft against the seat's backrest, aiming towards the rapidly approaching car behind me. It's at an awkward angle, not to mention I'm working with one eye. I know I won't do any real damage, but I have to make an attempt. I also know I have to let it get closer. My foot eases off the gas pedal, and the car slowly decreases speed, waiting for the one behind to gain on me.

Once I can see the definition in the face of the driver in the rearview, I pull the trigger with my right hand and continue steering with the left. Even at the odd angle and with a partially blind glance behind me, what I was hoping for happens. I've hit the car enough that it sends it careening and swerving on the road, kicking up dust and smoke from the burning rubber of the tires that spin out of control.

I watch the car zigzag behind me; smoke coming from the hood and front tires, and it veers into the uneven, prickly brush on the side of the highway at an alarming speed. I slow and see the car hit some sort of ditch as the nose dips and jumps up immediately after, bottoming out and coming to a quick halt.

I slam my hand down on the dashboard and yell; excited it went as well as it did. I turn to the passenger seat and talk to Bella, fantasizing for a moment that she's there with me.

"We did it, baby! We did it!" I rub the cloth seat next to me as I would if it were her bare leg beneath my hand, dying that it isn't.

I smile for a bit until I let the ruse end that she isn't here with me, that she's somewhere on the side of the road or already picked up by police because of my decision to leave her. The realization that I don't know, probably _won't_ know what's happened to her, makes my stomach lurch in pain and before I can stop it, I lean my head over the side of the door and vomit while trying to keep the car from joining the fucking cop in a ditch. I clear my head and erase any uncertainty because I _will_ find out; she'll come to me.

I can't stay on this road with the threat of a roadblock before me more than fucking likely the closer I get to what the map says is US 57, about thirty miles ahead. The road is straight and flat so I can see pretty far in front of me, but after twenty minutes, I figure my luck is running out and when I approach a small dirt trail on the left I turn, slowing the car to a crawl so as not to pick up dust behind me in case there's more cops on their way.

Driving through the rubble and wild vegetation on the earthy road, I'm relieved it seems to have been unused for some time. I come to a rundown house, its shutters hanging off the window hinges and the overgrown grass telling me no one has been here for a while. Again, I think of Bella. Bella and the abandoned house where I finally gave in and fucking touched her, _owned her_ like I'd been wanting to for so long. Like she owned me. It still enrages me that she thought I didn't want her when she was standing in front of the mirror in that room, so unsure. I've always wanted her. It floors me that she didn't fucking know.

I pull around the side, looking out over the sizeable land in front of me. Ditching the car way off in the distant fields seems like a good idea, they appear to be unoccupied too, as they're also wild and thick. Searching around the house, I find what I'm looking for. There's a decaying hose hanging from a rusty well near the porch and I get out, twisting the knob hard until it gives. The water rushing out is brown and murky at first, until it finally runs in a cool, clear stream.

Pulling off my shirt, I run the water over my chest and face, rubbing at the dried blood and dirt, careful to leave the gauze over all three wounds dry because Bella would tell me to be careful. I take off my sneakers and blood soaked jeans, throwing them onto Bella's seat, before hosing down my legs and wiping as much blood from my sneakers as I can. The black canvas of my Converse doesn't reveal much, and the white rubber sole cleans up well, but the shoelaces are done for so I unlace them and toss them on top of my bloody jeans.

I dry off quickly with another shirt, all the time keeping an ear out for a siren that could pierce the air at any moment. Glancing to the fields behind me, I think about my plan so I drive naked out into the middle of an overgrown patch of weeds, far from the view of the road. Being naked in the car makes me think of Bella, laid out before me on top of the backseat in that other convertible. My heart twinges.

I rummage through the items that I dumped out from our bag earlier and start to shove the contents into the backpack. I tug on a clean-ish pair of jeans and my Doors t-shirt, Bella never leaving my mind as I pack.

I agonize over leaving her things, her shirts and underwear, jeans and toiletries, but I'm fucking smart enough to not be caught travelling with them. I chuck everything of hers into the seat with the bloody jeans and shoelaces, but I pause and lose my shit as my hand grabs her wedding dress. I stand staring at it for longer than I know I should. Bringing it to my face I inhale, smelling her and filling my lungs with _her_. My dick hardens, as it has every time I've thought of her since the first day we ate lunch together.

I want to rub my cock against the material, she was so fucking perfect standing there in Jasper and Alice's house, pledging herself to me, giving all of herself to me, and I know I can't get rid of it. I shove it down to the bottom of the bag and stuff my clothing on top, over the brown envelopes and bottles of water, shutting it closed with a loud zip.

After ramming the map in my back pocket and putting the ammo and gun on the ground, I gather the bloody knife that still lays on the floor, the first aid kit, the garbage bag, anything at all that remains in the car with either of our fingerprints, and push it all into a pile in the front seat, putting the bloody clothing and shoelaces on top. I rethink the CD and pull that out, and I see the camera in the mix and grab it also, trying to convince myself that the pictures on here won't be the only images I have left of her.

Pulling out my lighter, I flick it open with a metal snap and dismantle it, tapping any remaining lighter fluid onto the pile I've amassed. With one pause, one moment of hesitation about fucking burning everything that exists of her, I turn the edge of my lighter towards the paper bag and watch as the corner catches the flame.

The pile goes up quickly, and I stay long enough to see the dashboard start to melt, the blood from the cloth on the seat burn away, and all of my Bella's belongings turn to red-hot embers.

Grabbing the gun and ammo, I walk away from the burning car, and with one last thought, reach for the cell I stuffed in my pocket and toss it on top of the fire. I take a cigarette out of my pack and hold it down towards the denim mini skirt that's burning hotly in the bonfire, my arm feeling the intense heat and making the hairs curl. Once it's lit I inhale deeply, sucking Bella into my lungs, before pulling myself from the car and making my way across the gnarled, abandoned countryside.

* * *

I walk for two hours. Driving at my normal, fast speed would've taken me about another twenty minutes to get to the border, but I'm staying off US-277 and picking my way through undeveloped landscapes and wandering down dirt trails. I avoid any sign of activity, small gatherings of houses here and there. By my estimation, I have another hour or two to go.

My entire life with Bella plays in a loop within my brain, and I get lost, remembering her smile as she lay under me when I outlined her eyes and how she felt my uncontrollable lust for her for the first time. I can still see her body stretching out naked before me, letting me consume her completely, but mostly I remember just being with her. Driving next to her, holding her, singing with her.

Eventually it gets too dark to see, and it would seem sketchy to cross into Mexico at night anyway, so I stop where I am and slide under some bushes. I keep the shotgun close in case some fucking animal decides I'm dinner, but holding the shotgun to protect myself makes me feel like a prick.

I've always protected _her_, not myself. Everything is for her, was for her, will be for her.

I was a goner the first time I noticed her. Beautiful in her fury, voracious in her hatred, overwhelming in her interest in me when she thought I didn't notice. I've killed for her happily, to keep her by my side where she belongs…where she's always belonged, before I even knew she existed.

My eyes close and I think about the fact that I stood outside her trailer night after night, ready to fucking cock punch Mike Fucking Newton if he showed up again after stabbing him in the hand. I berate and hate myself because it didn't matter anyway. I wasn't there the night she needed me. She said she was happy things went the way they did, but if I _had_ been there, maybe we'd have still have left together, but Bella wouldn't be a killer like me.

Pain lights up my gut like wildfire and if I had anything in my stomach, it would be spewed all over the dirt. I couldn't protect Katie, but that guilt feels miniscule compared to the guilt I feel that Bella had to take care of Mike Fucking Newton alone. I should've cut off his goddamned hands when I lunged into that trailer and hung them from my neck like a warrior. The hands that touched my girl. My life. I'll never let her be alone and scared again.

I grit my teeth, punch my head, and rip at my hair because here I lay, hundreds of miles from her doing exactly that. I can't protect her; I don't know where she is. I don't know what's happened to her. Hell, I don't even know if she's decided that I'm fucking repulsive and worthless and is now disgusted by me.

I hope she doesn't ever doubt my goddamn need for her like I'm doing right now.

I feel helpless, but I can't do anything for her but this. Remaining free and keeping my promise to just fucking be there when she figures it out.

I tell myself it's the only way to make sure she's mine forever.

I look up at the night sky, speckled with shiny pricks of light as I rub the tattoo on my ring finger, and even though it's a fucking chick cliché, I do wonder if she's looking up at the same sky, either thinking of me with sangre in her veins or hatred in her heart.

* * *

I spend an hour the next morning burying the shotgun and ammo with my bare hands. I've got Bella's wedding dress tied around my head to ward off the sun that's beating down as I stamp down the earth and leave to continue my walk. I know I should've used one of the white t-shirts, but having her wrapped around my brain is comforting, she's holding me in. I talk to her as I go, telling her about my folks, and about the life we'll have. Simple. Painless. Happy.

Even though the main goal now is to get to where Bella will find me, I'm still anxious to find my parents, and I relive every detail they made me learn as I walk. I know where they are supposed to be…but Bella's fucked up need for reality has invaded me and I try to keep the doubts at bay. When I'm not thinking of Bella, I think of a reunion with the other two people I love.

I know I'm getting close to the border when more houses pop up, and I have no choice but to venture out onto the main road. Since this is a trip I've been planning since I was ten, I know every single major border crossing in Texas and have a pretty good idea what to expect. I hadn't planned on not having a fucking car, but it works out that I had decided on crossing with Bella at Piedras Negras anyway, because you can walk across the country line there on one of the two international bridges as a tourist to go shopping in Mexico for the day. Fucking beautiful.

Arriving at the town of Eagle Pass, I enter the first rest stop I come to and attempt to clean myself up in the bathroom of the dirt and grime that's covered me in my trek, so I don't look like the fucking fugitive that I am. Those two words make me smirk and shake my head. Like father like son, I guess.

I put on my cleanest, least wrinkled shirt, try to tame my hair with water from the sink, and brush my teeth with the travel packet I bought from the machine in the little store. I skip the eyeliner, thinking it best to just look like Joe All-American out to buy some cheap Tequila for his frat buddies. Happy to get one more spark out of my lighter, I smoke a cigarette before making my way to the border. I shuffle my passport and ID to the front of the backpack so I don't have to dig around to open it fully, hoping they're satisfied with just seeing my paperwork. I don't really have anything questionable, a knife or two, which they'd just confiscate, and the money, but I figure it's best to just have it readily available. I decide not to get the stupid form required to re-enter the U.S. as I'm not planning to fucking do so once Bella returns to me.

I walk about ten minutes until I see the buildings that house border control, and there's a line of cars waiting to be allowed passage. There are cops and dogs walking from car to car, but I keep my eyes peeled straight ahead, following behind an older Mexican couple with some bags, obviously returning from getting some shopping done on the U.S. side.

Even though I've researched it, I'm surprised it's as…simple as it is. The bridge has lanes for cars and a pedestrian walkway much like you'd see on any highway overpass. Right before the bridge starts to cross over the Rio Grande, the tollbooth looms ahead and I take a deep breath, anticipating and planning different scenarios in my head. I watch the couple ahead of me from my lagging distance and all they do is pull out some money. No paperwork is asked for or offered.

It can't be this fucking easy.

I walk towards the booth and put a smile on my face when I stop at the toll window. The woman inside looks at the white bandage over my eye for a second, but then just tells me the charge of fifty cents is required to pass.

I give her a buck and she gives me change. That's it.

I glance quickly over to other side, the side that allows passage from Mexico to the U.S. and there seems to be more people waiting there, showing documentation.

I guess they don't really care what kind of fucker is going in. I shake my head a little and walk with my bag slumped over my shoulder casually, holding my breath as the plaque in the middle of the bridge signals my entry into Mexico.

Immediately there's a huge sign welcoming me to Piedras Negras and shops with tourists walking in and out, but I distance myself a bit and stand by a wall, pulling out a cigarette and trying to use my lighter which is now out of fluid.

I curse, and some guy offers me a match, so I lean down and take the biggest inhale I can to calm my nerves. He's standing there with a couple of bags, watching a woman take pictures of some kids in front of a fountain.

"So," I begin, trying to sound casual, "they're not too strict with checking ID, huh?"

The guy with the matches smirks. "Getting back into the U.S. isn't as easy. But if you're going farther than ten or twenty miles in, you might get asked for your FMM at an immigration checkpoint."

"Right, thanks," I walk away from him and decide taking a bus is out, as I don't plan on going near any immigration officials.

I leave the square immediately, in search of a detailed map of Mexico. Hitchhiking it is.

It's time to get to Playa de Sangre. For Bella, my wife.

* * *

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**From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:**

**The Red Eye by badjujube**

It's important for any private investigator to maintain a good relationship with local law enforcement and it's representatives. Therefore, I am always cooperative and polite with Chief Swan. Also, I try not to drink his daughter Bella's blood.

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